Ascension of the Lord: We are not orphans

(Acts 1:1-11)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So it is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

[Pope Benedict, Regina Coeli 16 May 2010]

Today, when I can sit for the first time on the Chair of the Bishop of Rome as Successor of Peter, is the day on which the Church in Italy celebrates the Feast of the Ascension of the Lord. At the centre of this day we find Christ. And it is also only thanks to him, thanks to the mystery of his Ascension, that we can understand the significance of the Chair, which in turn is the symbol of the Bishop's power and responsibility. 

So what does the Feast of the Ascension of the Lord mean for us? It does not mean that the Lord has departed to some place far from people and from the world. Christ's Ascension is not a journey into space toward the most remote stars; for basically, the planets, like the earth, are also made of physical elements. 

Christ's Ascension means that he no longer belongs to the world of corruption and death that conditions our life. It means that he belongs entirely to God. He, the Eternal Son, led our human existence into God's presence, taking with him flesh and blood in a transfigured form. 

The human being finds room in God; through Christ, the human being was introduced into the very life of God. And since God embraces and sustains the entire cosmos, the Ascension of the Lord means that Christ has not departed from us, but that he is now, thanks to his being with the Father, close to each one of us for ever. Each one of us can be on intimate terms with him; each can call upon him. The Lord is always within hearing. We can inwardly draw away from him. We can live turning our backs on him. But he always waits for us and is always close to us. 

From the readings of today's liturgy we also learn something more about the concrete way the Lord makes himself close to us. The Lord promises the disciples his Holy Spirit. The first reading that we heard tells us that the Holy Spirit will give "power" to the disciples; the Gospel adds that he will guide them to the whole truth. As the living Word of God, Jesus told his disciples everything, and God can give no more than himself. In Jesus, God gave us his whole self, that is, he gave us everything. As well as or together with this, there can be no other revelation which can communicate more or in some way complete the Revelation of Christ. In him, in the Son, all has been said to us, all has been given. 

But our understanding is limited: thus, the Spirit's mission is to introduce the Church, in an ever new way from generation to generation, into the greatness of Christ's mystery. The Spirit places nothing different or new beside Christ; no pneumatic revelation comes with the revelation of Christ - as some say -, no second level of Revelation. 

No: "He will have received from me...", Christ says in the Gospel (Jn 16: 14). And as Christ says only what he hears and receives from the Father, thus the Holy Spirit is the interpreter of Christ. "He will have received from me". He does not lead us to other places, far from Christ, but takes us further and further into Christ's light. Consequently, Christian Revelation is both ever old and new. Thus, all things are and always have been given to us. At the same time, every generation, in the inexhaustible encounter with the Lord - an encounter mediated by the Holy Spirit - always learns something new. 

The Holy Spirit, therefore, is the power through which Christ causes us to experience his closeness. But the first reading also has something else to say: you will be my witnesses. The Risen Christ needs witnesses who have met him, people who have known him intimately through the power of the Holy Spirit; those who have, so to speak, actually touched him, can witness to him. 

It is in this way that the Church, the family of Christ, "beginning at Jerusa-lem"..., as the Reading says, spread to the very ends of the earth. It is through witnesses that the Church was built - starting with Peter and Paul and the Twelve, to the point of including all who, filled with Christ, have rekindled down the centuries and will rekindle the flame of faith in a way that is ever new. All Christians in their own way can and must be witnesses of the Risen Lord. 

When we read the saints' names we can see how often they have been - and continue to be - first and foremost simple people from whom shone - and shines - a radiant light that can lead others to Christ. 

But this chorus of witnesses is also endowed with a clearly defined structure: the successors of the Apostles, the Bishops, who are publicly responsible for ensuring that the network of these witnesses survives. The power and grace required for this service are conferred upon Bishops through the sacrament of Episcopal Ordination. In this network of witnesses, the Successor of Peter has a special task. It was Peter who, on the Apostles' behalf, made the first profession of faith: "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (Mt 16: 16). 

This is the task of all Peter's Successors: to be the guide in the profession of faith in Christ, Son of the living God. The Chair of Rome is above all the Seat of this belief. From high up on this Chair the Bishop of Rome is constantly bound to repeat: Dominus Iesus - "Jesus is Lord", as Paul wrote in his Letters to the Romans (10: 9) and to the Corin-thians (I Cor 12: 3). To the Corinthians he stressed: "Even though there are so-called gods in the heavens and on the earth... for us there is one God, the Father... and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom everything was made and through whom we live" (I Cor 8: 5). 

The Chair of Peter obliges all who hold it to say, as Peter said during a crisis time among the disciples when so many wanted to leave him: "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe; we are convinced that you are God's holy one" (Jn 6: 68 ff.).
The One who sits on the Chair of Peter must remember the Lord's words to Simon Peter at the Last Supper: "...You in turn must strengthen your brothers" (Lk 22: 32). The one who holds the office of the Petrine ministry must be aware that he is a frail and weak human being - just as his own powers are frail and weak - and is constantly in need of purification and conversion. 

But he can also be aware that the power to strengthen his brethren in the faith and keep them united in the confession of the Crucified and Risen Christ comes from the Lord. In St Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians, we find the oldest account we have of the Resurrection. Paul faithfully received it from the witnesses. This account first speaks of Christ's death for our sins, of his burial and of his Resurrection which took place the third day, and then says: "[Christ] was seen by Cephas, then by the Twelve..." (I Cor 15: 4). Thus, the importance of the mandate conferred upon Peter to the end of time is summed up: being a witness of the Risen Christ. 

The Bishop of Rome sits upon the Chair to bear witness to Christ. Thus, the Chair is the symbol of the potestas docendi, the power to teach that is an essential part of the mandate of binding and loosing which the Lord conferred on Peter, and after him, on the Twelve. In the Church, Sacred Scripture, the understanding of which increases under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and the ministry of its authentic interpretation that was conferred upon the Apostles, are indissolubly bound. Whenever Sacred Scripture is separated from the living voice of the Church, it falls prey to disputes among experts. 

Of course, all they have to tell us is important and invaluable; the work of scholars is a considerable help in understanding the living process in which the Scriptures developed, hence, also in grasping their historical richness. 

Yet science alone cannot provide us with a definitive and binding interpretation; it is unable to offer us, in its interpretation, that certainty with which we can live and for which we can even die. A greater mandate is necessary for this, which cannot derive from human abilities alone. The voice of the living Church is essential for this, of the Church entrusted until the end of time to Peter and to the College of the Apostles. 

This power of teaching frightens many people in and outside the Church. They wonder whether freedom of conscience is threatened or whether it is a presumption opposed to freedom of thought. It is not like this. The power that Christ conferred upon Peter and his Successors is, in an absolute sense, a mandate to serve. The power of teaching in the Church involves a commitment to the service of obedience to the faith. The Pope is not an absolute monarch whose thoughts and desires are law. On the contrary: the Pope's ministry is a guarantee of obedience to Christ and to his Word. He must not proclaim his own ideas, but rather constantly bind himself and the Church to obedience to God's Word, in the face of every attempt to adapt it or water it down, and every form of opportunism. 

Pope John Paul II did this when, in front of all attempts, apparently benevolent to the human person, and in the face of erroneous interpretations of freedom, he unequivocally stressed the inviolability of the human being and of human life from the moment of conception until natural death. The freedom to kill is not true freedom, but a tyranny that reduces the human being to slavery. 

The Pope knows that in his important decisions, he is bound to the great community of faith of all times, to the binding interpretations that have developed throughout the Church's pilgrimage. Thus, his power is not being above, but at the service of, the Word of God. It is incumbent upon him to ensure that this Word continues to be present in its greatness and to resound in its purity, so that it is not torn to pieces by continuous changes in usage. 

The Chair is - let us say it again - a symbol of the power of teaching, which is a power of obedience and service, so that the Word of God- the truth! - may shine out among us and show us the way of life. 

But in speaking of the Chair of the Bishop of Rome, how can we forget St Ignatius of Antioch's words addressed to the Romans? Peter came from Antioch, his first See, to Rome, his permanent See. His martyrdom decreed that he stay here definitively and bound his succession to Rome for ever. 

Ignatius, for his part, while remaining Bishop of Antioch, was also heading for the martyrdom that he was to suffer in Rome. In his Letter to the Romans, he refers to the Church of Rome as "She who presides in love", a deeply meaningful phrase. We do not know with any certainty what Ignatius may have had in mind when he used these words. But for the ancient Church, the word love, agape, referred to the mystery of the Eucharist. In this mystery, Christ's love becomes permanently tangible among us. Here, again and again he gives himself. Here, again and again his heart is pierced; here he keeps his promise, the promise which, from the Cross, was to attract all things to himself. 

In the Eucharist, we ourselves learn Christ's love. It was thanks to this centre and heart, thanks to the Eucharist, that the saints lived, bringing to the world God's love in ever new ways and forms. Thanks to the Eucharist, the Church is reborn ever anew! The Church is none other than that network - the Eucharistic community! - within which all of us, receiving the same Lord, become one body and embrace all the world. 

Presiding in doctrine and presiding in love must in the end be one and the same: the whole of the Church's teaching leads ultimately to love. And the Eucharist, as the love of Jesus Christ present, is the criterion for all teaching. On love the whole law is based, and the prophets as well, the Lord says (cf. Mt 22: 40). Love is the fulfilment of the law, St Paul wrote to the Romans (cf. 13: 10)  […]

[Pope Benedict, Inaugural Homily, 7 May 2005]

1. In many countries, including Italy, the Solemnity of Christ's Ascension has been moved back to Sunday. With this feast we remember that after his Resurrection, Jesus presented himself alive to the disciples for 40 days (Acts 1,3), at the end of which, having led them to the Mount of Olives, "he was lifted up before their eyes and a cloud took him from their sight" (Acts 1,9). Risen and ascended into heaven, our Redeemer is the anchor of salvation and support for believers in their daily dedication to serve truth, peace, justice and freedom. In ascending to heaven, he reopens for us the way to our blessed homeland, not to alienate us from history but to give the greatest hope to our journey.

2. Indeed, every day we have to deal with the realities of this world. The World Day of Social Communications that we celebrate today reminds us of this fact.

The most recent breakthroughs in communications and information have placed the Church before unheard-of possibilities for evangelization. Keeping this fact in mind, I thought this year the relevant theme to propose should be: "Internet:  a New Forum for Proposing the Gospel".

With realism and confidence we must deal with this modern and ever denser network of communcations, convinced that if used competently and with a sense of responsibility, it can offer valid opportunities for the spread of the Gospel message.

So do not be afraid to "put out into the deep" into the vast ocean of information technology. By using it we can make the Good News reach the hearts of the men and women of the new millennium.

3. We must never forget that the secret of every apostolic action is above all prayer. Indeed, given to intense prayer after the Ascension, the disciples lived in the Upper Room as they awaited the Holy Spirit promised by Christ. In their midst was Mary, the Mother of Jesus (Acts 1,14). As we prepare to celebrate the solemn Feast of Pentecost next Sunday, with Mary let us call upon the Holy Spirit promised by Christ so that he may imbue Christians with fresh missionary zeal and guide humanity's steps on the paths of solidarity and peace.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 12 May 2002]

Today, in Italy and in other countries, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord is being celebrated. The Gospel reading (cf. Mt 28:16-20) shows us the Apostles who gather in Galilee, at “the mountain to which Jesus had directed them” (v. 16). The Lord’s final encounter with his followers takes place here, on the mountain. The “mountain” has a strong symbolic and evocative charge. Jesus proclaimed the Beatitudes on the Mount (cf. Mt 5:1-12); He withdrew to the mountains to pray (cf. Mt 14:23). He welcomed the crowds there and healed the sick (cf. Mt 15:29). However this time on the mountain, he is no longer the Master who acts and teaches, but rather the Risen One who asks the disciples to take action and to proclaim, entrusting to them the mandate to continue his work. 

He assigns to them the mission to all the peoples. He says: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you” (vv. 19-20). The contents of the mission entrusted to the Apostles are the following: to proclaim, baptize, teach and walk the path traced by the Master, that is, the living Gospel. This message of salvation first of all implies the duty of witness — one cannot proclaim without witness — to which we too, today’s disciples, are called to explain our faith. Faced with such a demanding task, and thinking of our weaknesses, we feel inadequate, as the Apostles themselves surely felt. But we must not be discouraged, remembering the words Jesus addressed to them before ascending to Heaven: “I am with you always, to the close of the age” (v. 20).

This promise ensures the constant and consoling presence of Jesus among us. But how is this presence realised? Through His Spirit, who leads the Church to walk through history as the companion of every person. That Spirit sent by Christ and the Father, who works the remission of sins and sanctifies all those who are repentant and open themselves with confidence to his gift. With the promise to remain with us until the end of time, Jesus inaugurates the style of his presence in the world as the Risen One. Jesus is present in the world but with another style, the style of the Risen One, that is a presence that is revealed in the Word, in the Sacraments and in the constant and interior action of the Holy Spirit. The Feast of the Ascension tells us that although Jesus ascended to Heaven to dwell gloriously at the right hand of the Father, he is still and always among us: this is the source of our strength, our perseverance and our joy, from the very presence of Jesus among us with the strength of the Holy Spirit.

May the Virgin Mary accompany our journey with her maternal protection. May may we learn from her the gentleness and courage to be witnesses in the world of the Risen Lord.

[Pope Francis, Regina Coeli, 24 May 2020]

6th Easter Sunday (year A)  [10 May 2026] 

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (8:5–8, 14–17)

Let me return to the first sentence: ‘Philip, one of the Seven’, that is, one of the seven men appointed to organise the distribution of food in Jerusalem. In practical terms, the issue was ensuring a fair distribution of what amounted to a food bank for widows. Last Sunday we saw that a problem had arisen among the very first Christians. After Jesus’ Resurrection, all those who followed the apostles and asked for baptism were Jews, either by birth or converts to Judaism (those known as proselytes). But there were already great differences amongst them. Among these Jews, some were originally from Israel, and in particular from Jerusalem, and spoke Hebrew in the synagogue and Aramaic on the street: they were called Jews. The others were from the Diaspora, that is, the rest of the Roman Empire: they spoke Greek and were called Hellenists. For the celebration of the Sabbath, all Jews, whether they had become Christians or not, would go to the synagogues: Jews on one side, Hellenists on the other. But for Christian celebrations, the Jews who had become Christians would gather in private homes, Hellenists and Jews together. It was in the context of these Christian celebrations that a first dispute broke out between these two groups of Christians, concerning the aid given to widows. And, to resolve it, seven men were appointed to be in charge of the distribution of food (today we might say ‘material matters’). That was last Sunday’s reading. Among these seven men, Stephen and Philip—both Jews who had recently become Christians—were ardent, fervent Hellenists and were likely recognised as leaders; they sought to convert to Jesus Christ the Jews who attended the synagogues where Greek was spoken, and it was there that a second dispute arose. Not a dispute between Christians of different origins, but a far more serious one between Hellenistic Jews (that is, Jews of the Diaspora): a dispute pitting those who believe in Jesus of Nazareth, the unrecognised Messiah, crucified and risen, against those who continue to think that Jesus was nothing but an impostor. And that is where the first persecution begins: the Jews who refuse to believe in Jesus Christ attack their Jewish brothers who have become Christians. Stephen is martyred: denounced by Hellenistic Jews to the authorities in Jerusalem, he is arrested and executed. Stephen’s martyrdom does not quell the fury of his opponents; on the contrary, they will turn their wrath upon the other Christians in Stephen’s group. This very first persecution does not target Jesus’s direct apostles—Peter, John, James and the others who are part of the Jewish group; it targets only the Hellenists. Thus, Jesus’ apostles were not disturbed and remained in Jerusalem, continuing to practise the Jewish religion whilst preaching in the name of Jesus. Instead, out of prudence, the Hellenist group dispersed: those most at risk moved away, but naturally, wherever they went, they spoke of the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. And so, thanks to the persecution, the Good News spreads beyond Jerusalem and reaches the other cities of Judea and Samaria. Later, people will recall Jesus’ final words on the day of the Ascension: ‘You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth’ (Acts 1:8). This is exactly what is happening: paradoxically, it is this trial—the persecution and scattering of the community—that allows evangelisation to gain ground. This is why Philip went down to Samaria, and instead of hiding, he began to preach, quickly going beyond the mission entrusted to him. At first, Philip was chosen to be one of the Seven charged with the service of the widows’ tables in Jerusalem, and we find him preaching in Samaria. At the same time, he remains visibly in contact with those who entrusted him with his mission, for the Jerusalem community sends Peter and John to him, who will in a sense authenticate the work accomplished by Philip. This takes place in Samaria, and we know just how much the people of Jerusalem despised the Samaritans: they regarded them as heretics; for centuries, Jews and Samaritans had carefully nurtured their quarrels and mutual contempt. Philip is not troubled by these old quarrels: he, the man of the Diaspora, is undoubtedly far removed from these theological disputes and, in any case, thanks to him, the Gospel has just crossed the boundaries of the synagogue. Instead, he emphasises the joy of the Samaritans in receiving the Good News 

Responsorial Psalm (65/66) 

We have heard only a few verses of the twenty that make up Psalm 65/66, yet the long journey of the faithful is summarised here in three stages. The first is suggested in verse 6 with the reference to the Exodus, the departure from Egypt with Moses: “He turned the sea into dry land”, then the entry into the Promised Land under the guidance of Joshua, with the miracle of the drying up of the Jordan: “They crossed the river on dry ground”. When one reads the Psalms carefully, one is struck by the abundance of echoes of the Exodus, which is the foundation of Israel’s faith experience and thus of its hope. In the second stage, the psalmist invites his contemporaries to prayer, praise and the sharing of the faith experience: “Come, listen, all you who fear God; I will tell you what he has done for my soul” . Third stage: the whole earth is invited to join in the praise of God: “Praise God, all the earth; celebrate the glory of his name, glorify him by singing his praises. Say to God: How awesome are your works!” It is not the first time that Israel’s prayer has expanded to encompass the whole earth, that is, all humanity. The chosen people have come to understand over time that their mission is to bring all peoples into the joy of God. Isaiah says: “My house shall be called a ‘House of prayer for all peoples’” (Is 56:7). In the psalm, one already senses a kind of anticipation of that day, as if all peoples were already part of the procession of pilgrims ascending to Jerusalem: ‘The whole earth bows down before you, sings to you, sings to your name.’ This psalm looks at once to the past, the present and the future... In the past, God freed his people from slavery in Egypt. Today, he liberates at every moment those who allow him to act; in the future, all humanity will be definitively freed from the chains that currently bind it in fear and war. This psalm thus introduces us to what the historical dimension of the faith experience represents for the Jewish people. And, as always in the biblical world, the collective dimension takes precedence over the individual experience. From the earliest age, the Jewish child shares in the memory of his people: daily prayers, the Sabbath, festivals and pilgrimages evoke a collective memory into which the child is gradually immersed; he hears adults singing the glory of God and recounting His mighty deeds countless times, and one day, in turn, quite naturally, he too will take up the baton. They hear their elders say: “Blessed be God who has not rejected my prayer, nor turned his love away from me.” They will remember the deeds of God who freed their ancestors from slavery in Egypt: He turned the sea into dry land, and they crossed the river on dry ground. The adults’ day, from morning prayer to evening prayer, passing through meals and all the acts of daily life, is steeped in this memory of the God who frees from all bondage. The Jewish child enters quite naturally into the ‘memory’ of his people, but all this presupposes family life and a strong sense of belonging to a people.  Here, perhaps, lies one of the keys to our problems in passing on the faith: it is precisely this collective memory that is lacking in many of our young Christians. The memory of a people is not a matter for religious education classes, however excellent they may be, but a matter of community life, of repeated rituals, of slow assimilation; and we can clearly see how grave the dangers of individualism are. At the same time, we know what remains for us to do if we wish to pass on the faith to the new generations: it is urgent that we return to imbuing the whole of family life with this faith-filled memory and give renewed vigour to our Christian communities.

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Peter the Apostle (3:15–18)

Reading between the lines of this text, one can imagine that Peter’s listeners were suffering harassment and ridicule at the hands of the pagans; not overt persecution, but latent hostility, and they had to explain time and again why they rejected certain pagan practices, such as sacrifices to pagan deities. Peter tells them: ‘Brothers, it is now your turn to behave as Christ behaved. He too faced accusations, slander and threats, yet he did not waver; now it is your turn, and you must be able to stand firm against your adversaries.

Where will this steadfast courage come from? Christians have but one source, one argument, one message: Christ died and rose again. Peter says nothing else: “Worship the Lord, Christ, in your hearts… For Christ too died once and for all for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you back to God; put to death in the body, but made alive in the spirit”. The body, the flesh, in biblical language, signify human weakness, the fact of being mortal. It is difficult for enemies to understand that Jesus died and rose again. Christians explained that, because he was filled with the Spirit of God, death could not hold him in its power, and the Spirit enabled him to pass through biological death and brought life to him—the gift of the Spirit of life which had been manifested upon him on the day of Jesus’ Baptism. This same Spirit, who entered us through Baptism, enables us to overcome evil, hatred and sadness, and this is our hope—the hope of which Peter says we must give an account at all times. Christ had said to the Apostles: “Take heart; I have overcome the world.” The witness the world expects from us is that evil is not inevitable, and for this reason we must never give up in the face of evil, hatred and violence. Christ suffered for our sins once and for all, and the expression ‘once and for all’ is a cry of victory: the world of evil and sin is definitively conquered through the obedience of the Son. Peter strongly links the two aspects of Christian witness: prayer is what takes place in the secret of the heart, and then there is the public courage of witness; the first cannot exist without the other. “Worship the holiness of Christ in your hearts” is what takes place in the secret of prayer, from which we shall draw the boldness needed to proclaim our hope through our lives: “Always be ready to give an answer to anyone who asks you to give an account of the hope that is within you.” Peter advises us not to speak first, but to be ready to answer the questions of those who ask. This phrase comes to mind: “Do not speak unless you are asked, but live in such a way that they ask you.” If life becomes a true witness to hope, those who meet you will wonder where such indestructible hope comes from. It is therefore not possible to bear witness to Jesus unless we live this hope, which means that witness is given first and foremost through deeds and not through words. Jesus says: “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (Mt 5:16). Saint Paul VI noted that our contemporaries seek witnesses, not teachers… and they listen to teachers only if they are witnesses. A witness given with “gentleness and respect”, Pietro emphasises, which must never desert us so that “those who slander our good conduct in Christ may be put to shame”. 

From the Gospel according to John (14:15–21)

On the evening of Holy Thursday, after the washing of the feet, Jesus speaks at length with his disciples for the last time. He speaks of the Father and of the relationship that unites him, the Son, to the Father, but he also speaks of the bond that now unites the apostles to his Father and to him. A bond that nothing and no one can destroy: “I am in my Father, you are in me and I am in you… Whoever loves me will be loved by my Father”.

And as he prepares to leave them, he announces the coming of the Spirit. The apostles recalled the prophecies of Ezekiel: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you” (Ezek 36:26) and “I will no longer hide my face from them, for I will have poured out my Spirit upon the house of Israel” (Ezek 39:29). With Joel, the promise of the gift of the Spirit had become universal: “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh” (Joel 3:1). When Jesus says, “The Spirit of truth remains with you, and will be in you”, he announces that the great day of the definitive Covenant has arrived. These words of his evoke Israel’s long wait, for the aspiration of all Old Testament believers was the presence of God in the midst of his people. There had been the Tabernacle during the Exodus, then the Temple in Jerusalem, but they awaited the New Covenant in which God would dwell not in buildings, but in the hearts of his people, intimately present in every believing heart. God had promised this through the mouth of Ezekiel, for example: ‘My dwelling place will be with them; I will be their God, and they will be my people’ (Ezek 37:27) and Zechariah: ‘Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion; behold, I am coming to dwell among you’ (Zech 2:14). The apostles were imbued with this hope: they knew that the definitive Covenant promised in the Old Testament was intended for all humanity, and during his public life, Jesus had repeatedly expressed the desire that the whole world might be saved. But why does he say that the world is incapable of receiving the Spirit of truth, and why does he say this at this very decisive moment of salvation? It is certainly not a value judgement, but an observation: The world cannot receive him, because it neither sees nor knows him. But Jesus continues: you, however, know him, because he dwells with you and will be in you. This is a sending forth on mission, for it is as if he were saying: “The world does not know the Spirit of truth… It is up to you to make him known; it is up to you to help people discover the active presence of the Spirit in every human reality”. Jesus wants to strengthen his disciples: to help them believe that the contagion of love will gradually prevail and that it is possible to transform the spirit of the world into the spirit of love. In a way, the mission he entrusts to his disciples is evangelisation by contagion, from person to person. This will be possible because Jesus assures them: “I will pray to the Father and he will give you another Paraclete to remain with you forever”. In Greek, “parakletos” refers to one who is called to stand by an accused person to assist them: he is the comforter, the intercessor, the counsellor, the advocate, the defender. An advocate for a trial, but what trial are we talking about? The one in which the world acts against Christ’s disciples, and through them, against the Father himself and against Christ. Ultimately, it is the trial of “Truth”. Hence Jesus’ insistence on the word “truth” whenever he warns his disciples of the persecutions that await them: “When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who proceeds from the Father, he will bear witness to me; and you also will bear witness, because you have been with me from the beginning” (Jn 15:26–27).

+Giovanni D’Ercole

5th Easter Sunday (year A)  [3 May 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (6:1-7)

Paradoxically, the problem facing the early Christian community arose from its very success. In those days, as the number of disciples grew, the Greek-speaking believers began to grumble against the Hebrew-speaking ones (Acts 6:1). The numbers were growing so rapidly that maintaining unity became difficult. Every expanding group faces the same question: how to remain united when numbers grow? Numerous, and therefore diverse. In truth, the seeds of this difficulty were already present on the morning of Pentecost. In Jerusalem lived devout Jews from every nation under heaven (cf. Acts 2:5). On that day there were three thousand conversions, and others followed in the months and years that followed. All were Jews, for the question of non-Jews arose only later, but many were Jews who had come to Jerusalem on pilgrimage from all over the Empire. These were the Jews of the Diaspora known as Hellenists: their mother tongue was neither Hebrew nor Aramaic, but Greek, which was then the common language throughout the Mediterranean. Thus, the young community immediately found itself facing the ‘challenge of languages’. And we know that the language barrier is much more than a mere difficulty of translation: a different mother tongue means different cultures, customs, and ways of understanding life and solving problems. If language is a net cast over the reality of things, a different language is another net, and the meshes rarely coincide. The practical problem that arose in Jerusalem was the care of widows. Looking after them was a rule of the Jewish world and the community did so willingly, but those managing the service, recruited from the majority Hebrew-speaking group, tended to favour the widows of their own group, whilst the Greek-speaking widows were neglected. These complaints could only grow more bitter, until they reached the ears of the apostles. Their reaction can be summarised in three points. First: they summoned the entire assembly of disciples because every decision is taken in plenary session, given that the Church functions synodally: Why then has this been lost? Second: they recalled the objective. It is a matter of remaining faithful to three demands of apostolic life: prayer, the ministry of the Word and the service of the brothers and sisters. Third: they are not afraid to propose a new organisation. Innovation is not unfaithfulness; on the contrary: faithfulness demands the ability to adapt to new circumstances. Being faithful does not mean remaining fixated on the past, for example by entrusting all tasks to the Twelve simply because they were chosen by Jesus. Being faithful means keeping one’s eyes fixed on the goal, and the goal, as the evangelist John writes, is ‘that they may be one so that the world may believe’ (Jn 17:21). Accepting diversity is the challenge facing every growing community, and when conflicts arise, splitting up is not the best solution; this is why the apostles do not consider dividing the community in two, with Greeks on one side and Jews on the other. The Holy Spirit has brought about numerous and diverse conversions and now inspires the apostles to organise themselves differently to deal with the consequences. The Twelve therefore decide to appoint men capable of taking on the task of serving at the tables, since that is where the problem arises: “Brothers, choose seven of you, men respected by all, full of the Holy Spirit and wisdom, and we will entrust this task to them. We, for our part, will devote ourselves to prayer and the ministry of the Word’. The seven chosen all bear Greek names: they were therefore almost certainly part of the group of Greek-speaking Christians, from whom the complaints had come. Thus a new institution is born: these servants of the community do not yet have a title, and the text does not use the word ‘deacon’. Although we must not be too quick to identify these men with today’s deacons, one thing remains clear: in every age, the Spirit inspires innovations that are indispensable for faithfully fulfilling the Church’s various missions and priorities. 

Responsorial Psalm (32/33)

I shall begin where the reading of this psalm ends, for there lies a key to understanding the whole. I return to the penultimate verse, verse 18: “The Lord’s eye is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his love.” Here we discover a beautiful definition of “fear of God”: to fear the Lord is simply to place our hope in his love. The believer, in the biblical sense, is a person full of hope; and if they are so, whatever happens, it is because they know that ‘the earth is full of his love’, as verse 5, which we have just heard, says. Knowing that the Lord’s loving gaze is always upon us is the source of our hope. I should point out that, in the Hebrew text, the name ‘Lord’ is the one revealed to Moses in the burning bush: the four-letter name YHWH which, out of respect, Jews never pronounce, and which means something like ‘I am, I will be with you, from everlasting to everlasting, in every moment of your history’. This name reminds Israel of the care with which God surrounded his people throughout the Exodus. If we translate it as ‘God watches over’, this vigilance is well conveyed. Thus we understand the following verse: ‘to deliver him from death and sustain him in times of famine’ (v. 19). These are allusions to the exodus from Egypt: by leading the people across the sea on dry ground behind Moses, the Lord saved the people from the certain death decreed by the Pharaoh; then, by sending manna from heaven in the desert, he truly nourished his people in times of famine. Then praise flows spontaneously from the heart of those who have experienced God’s care: “Rejoice, O righteous ones, in the Lord; for the upright, praise is beautiful” (v. 1). The expression “the upright” may surprise us, yet it is common in the Bible. One is considered upright/righteous who enters into God’s plan, who is united with God like a well-tuned musical instrument. This is said of Abraham: Abraham believed in the Lord, and it was credited to him as righteousness (Gen 15:6). He had faith, that is, he trusted in God and in his plan. Therefore, we could translate “righteous men”, in Hebrew hassidim, as “the men of the Covenant”, or “the men of God’s merciful plan”: those who have accepted the revelation of God’s benevolence and respond to it by adhering to the Covenant. These titles, “righteous men” and “upright men”, do not denote moral qualities, for the hassid is a man like any other, a sinner like any other, but he lives within the Lord’s Covenant; he lives in trust in the faithful God. And since he has discovered the God of tenderness and faithfulness, quite logically he lives in praise: “Rejoice in the Lord, you righteous; praise is fitting for the upright.” This call to praise was the entrance hymn of a liturgy of thanksgiving. We note in passing an indication of how the psalms were performed and of at least one of the instruments used in the Temple of Jerusalem: this psalm was probably intended to be accompanied by a ten-stringed harp. Singing a new song to the Lord does not mean a song never heard before, but a new song in the sense that words of love, even the most familiar ones, are always new. When lovers say ‘I love you’, they are not afraid to repeat the same words, and yet the wonder is that that song is always new. One more note: “The word of the Lord is upright, and all his works are trustworthy” (v. 4). Contrary to appearances, these are not two separate statements, one concerning the word of God and the other concerning his works, because in the Bible the Word of God is already an act in progress: “God said, and it was done,” repeats the account of creation in the first book of Genesis. It is no coincidence that this psalm has twenty-two verses, corresponding to the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet: it is a tribute to the Word of God, as if to say that it is the whole of our life, from A to Z. And it is no empty compliment, for Israel recognises that from God’s first word to his people, Israel has simultaneously experienced how the promised Word of liberation is, at the same time, already God’s liberating intervention: in every age, the Word of God calls to freedom, and is at the same time a divine force acting within humanity to secure freedom from all idolatry and all slavery. Finally: “He loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of the Lord’s love” (v. 5). Here the vocation of the whole of creation is described: God is love, and the earth is called to be a place of love, righteousness and justice. Remember the prophet Micah: ‘O man, it has been taught to you what is good and what the Lord requires of you: to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God’ (Mic 6:8).

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Peter the Apostle (2:4–9)

In Hebrew, the same verb is used to mean ‘to build a house’, ‘to found a family’ and ‘to found a society’. For this reason, even in the Old Testament, the prophets readily used the language of building to speak of human society. Isaiah, for example, devised a parable: he compared the kingdom of Jerusalem to a building site (Isaiah 28:16–17). On that site there was a remarkable block of stone that was meant to become the cornerstone of the building, but the architects scorned that block and preferred to use stones of poor quality. This was a way of accusing the authorities of abandoning true values to build society on false ones. Over time, it became customary to apply the term ‘cornerstone’ to the Messiah: he would be able to take over and restore God’s building site. Peter, in turn, develops this comparison to speak of Christ. Jesus, the Messiah, is truly the most precious stone that God has placed at the centre of the building; and all people are called upon to become stones in this spiritual edifice. Those who agree to become one with him are integrated into the structure, becoming supporting elements themselves. But of course this is a choice to be made, and people may also choose the opposite path, that is, to reject the project and even sabotage it. Then everything happens for them as if the keystone were not at the heart of the building: it has remained on the ground, an admirable block but a hindrance on the building site. The stone rejected by the builders has become the cornerstone, a stumbling block and a stone of offence (cf. 1 Pet 2:7–8). Our Baptism was the moment of choice. Since then, we have been integrated into the building of what Peter calls the spiritual temple, as opposed to the stone temple in Jerusalem where animal sacrifices were offered. From the beginning of history, humanity has sought to reach God by worshipping him in the way it believes is worthy of him. Along its journey, the chosen people discovered the true face of God and learnt to live within his Covenant. Little by little, in the light of the prophets’ teaching, it was discovered that the true temple of God is humanity itself, and that the only worship worthy of him is love and service to our brothers and sisters, and no longer animal sacrifices. But this places a tremendous responsibility upon us: the temple in Jerusalem was the sign of God’s presence among his people. Now, the sign of God’s presence visible to the world is us, the Church of Christ. Peter’s words then resound as a vocation: “Like living stones, you too are being built into a spiritual house” (1 Pet 2:5). Peter distinguishes between those who entrust themselves to Christ and those who reject him. ‘Believing’ and ‘rejecting’ are two acts of free will, and those who do not accept Christ, Peter affirms, stumble because they do not obey the Word. This was their destiny (cf. v. 5); this phrase speaks only of the consequence of their free choice, not of predestination by God’s arbitrary decision: the liberating God can only respect our freedom. At the presentation of Jesus in the temple, Simeon had announced to Joseph and Mary: ‘He is here for the fall and the rising again of many in Israel’ (cf. Lk 2:34). Simeon does not speak of a necessity willed by God, but of the consequences of Jesus’ coming. In fact, his presence was for some an occasion of total conversion, whilst others hardened their hearts. Peter concludes: ‘ But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood” (1 Pet 2:9). On the day of our Baptism, grafted into Christ, we became members of Christ, the one true “priest, prophet and king”. United with him, we have become part of his holy people; we have acquired a new citizenship, that of the people of God, and our national anthem is now the Alleluia. Peter concludes by telling us that we are charged with proclaiming the marvellous works of the One who has called us out of darkness into his marvellous light.

From the Gospel according to John (14:1–12)

If Jesus begins by saying, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled’ (Jn 14:1), it is because the disciples were not hiding their anguish, and one can understand why. They knew they were surrounded by general hostility and sensed that the countdown had begun. This anguish was compounded, at least for some of them, by a terrible disappointment: “We had hoped that he would be the one to redeem Israel” (from the Romans), the disciples of Emmaus would say (cf. Lk 24:21). The apostles shared this political hope; now their leader is about to be condemned and executed, and their illusions are coming to an end. Jesus sets about redirecting their hope: he will not fulfil the expectations his miracles have raised; he will not lead the national uprising against the occupier; on the contrary, he will not cease to preach non-violence. The liberation he has come to bring lies on another plane: he does not wish to fulfil his people’s earthly and political expectation of the Messiah, but to make them understand that he is the one who has always been awaited. He begins by appealing to their faith, that is, to that fundamental attitude of the Jewish people which we read of in all the psalms, for hope can rest firmly only on faith. This is why Jesus returns repeatedly to these words: ‘believe’, ‘let not your hearts be troubled (for) you believe in God’. Yet it is one thing to believe in God—and this is a given—and quite another to believe in Jesus, precisely at the moment when he seems to have definitively lost the battle. For his contemporaries, to accord Jesus the same faith as God required a tremendous leap, and Jesus seeks to help them perceive the profound unity existing between the Father and himself. Here we have the second key theme of this text: “I am in the Father and the Father is in me” (a phrase he repeats twice). And then: “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father”, and this last phrase resonates in a very special way in the light of what will happen a few hours later, for the revelation of the Father reaches its climax when Jesus dies on the cross. As he dies, Jesus continues to love mankind, all mankind, and even forgives his executioners. It would be necessary to dwell on every sentence of this final conversation between Jesus and his disciples, indeed on each of the words laden with the whole of biblical experience: to know, to see, to abide, to go towards. Every word is at the same time an event, a ‘work’. When he says: ‘I am’, to Jewish ears this clearly evokes God himself, and he dares to say: “I am the way, the truth and the life”, identifying himself with God himself. And at the same time, the Father and he are two distinct persons, for Jesus says: “I am the way” (implied: to the Father). No one comes to the Father except through me. Another way of saying “I am the way” or “I am the gate”, as in the discourse on the Good Shepherd. And when we are united with him, the divine plan of our solidarity in Jesus Christ with the whole of humanity is realised. This is truly a mystery, and we struggle greatly to grasp it, yet it is the very essence of God’s merciful plan, which St Augustine calls the “total Christ”. This solidarity in Jesus Christ is present throughout the New Testament. Paul, for example, evokes it when he speaks of the New Adam and also when he says that Christ is the head of the Body of which we are the members. “The whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth until now” (Rom 8:22): the birth of which he speaks is precisely that of the Body of Christ. Jesus himself very often used the expression ‘Son of Man’ to announce the definitive victory of the whole of humanity gathered together as one man. If we take seriously the expression ‘No one comes to the Father except through me’ and if we consider the solidarity existing among all men in Jesus Christ, then we must also say that Christ does not go to the Father without us. This is the meaning of these words of Jesus: “Where I am, there you will be too”, and again, “When I have gone and prepared a place for you, I will come again and take you to be with me”. Paul affirms this in another way when he writes: “Nothing can ever separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus” (Rom 8:39). Jesus concludes with a solemn promise: “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do.” After all that Jesus has just said about himself, the term “works” certainly does not refer solely to miracles, for throughout the Old Testament, when the word “work” is used in reference to God, it always refers to God’s great work of liberating his people. This means that the disciples are now associated with the work undertaken by God to free humanity from all physical or moral bondage. This promise of Christ encourages us to believe that, even though history shows the enduring presence of many forms of slavery, this liberation is possible and will come to pass. It is up to each of us to make our own contribution.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Fourth Easter Sunday (year A)  [26 April 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (2:14a, 36–41)

The account of Peter’s speech in Jerusalem on the morning of Pentecost continues, and since he is now filled with the Holy Spirit, he reads, as it were, an open book in God’s plan. Everything appears clear to him; he recalls the prophet Joel who had announced: “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh” (Joel 2:28), and it is evident to him that we are at the dawn of the fulfilment of this promise. Through Jesus, rejected and put to death by men, yet raised and exalted by God, the Spirit has been poured out upon all flesh, and Jewish pilgrims from every corner of the Roman Empire have come to celebrate the feast of Pentecost, the feast of the gift of the Law. During their journey and even upon arriving at the Temple in Jerusalem, the pilgrims sang psalms and implored God for the coming of the Messiah. Peter sought to open their eyes: the Messiah of whom you speak is that Jesus whom you have crucified, and when he declares Jesus to be Lord and Messiah, the Christ, these statements of his certainly seem very bold. If the man from Nazareth is the expected Messiah, this means that all the hope of Israel rests upon Jesus. Peter’s listeners were struck to the heart, says Luke, and Peter certainly knew how to touch their hearts. What must we do, they ask themselves? The answer is simple: repent to save yourselves from this perverse generation, and to repent, in biblical language, is precisely to turn around, to make a U-turn. There are two paths before us, and we often take the wrong one: we must then return to the right path. Peter makes a simple observation: the generation living at the time of Christ and the apostles was faced with a real challenge, namely to recognise in Jesus the Messiah awaited for centuries. Unfortunately, however, Jesus did not possess the characteristics or fulfil the hopes placed in the Messiah, who was imagined as the liberator of the Jewish people; thus, an error of judgement was made and the path was lost. For this reason, Peter calls on everyone to be converted and invites them to receive Baptism: be baptised in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit promised to you, to your children, and to all those who are far off, whom our Lord God will call. Furthermore, for Jews familiar with the study of the Scriptures, Peter recalls the prophecy of Joel – ‘I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh’ – just as his words echo those of the prophet Isaiah concerning the peace and covenant desired by God with the people of Israel (cf. Is 49:1; 57:19). It was precisely through this Covenant that Israel felt bound to God: they were the chosen people, the son, as the prophet Hosea says (11:1), whilst other peoples seemed far from God. When Isaiah then states that peace is also for those who are far away, he recalls that the chosen people have a mission of peace for all humanity, called to enter into what might be called God’s plan of peace. The author notes that on that day three thousand were baptised. He adds that the three thousand Jews who had become Christians were among those whom Peter called ‘neighbours’. Little by little, throughout the Book of Acts, even those who were far off will join those ‘called’ by God. To them, St Paul will say, in his letter to the Ephesians: you who were once far off have now become neighbours through the blood of Christ. And it is Christ, our peace, for ‘of the two, the Jew and the Gentile’, he has made one (Eph 2:14–18).

Responsorial Psalm (22/23)

We encountered Psalm 22/23 on the Fourth Sunday of Lent.  At the time, I emphasised three points in my commentary: first, the psalms speak of Israel as a whole, even though the speaker uses the first person singular, saying ‘I’; second, to describe its religious experience, Israel uses two comparisons: that of the Levite who finds joy in dwelling in the House of God, and that of the pilgrim who takes part in the sacred meal following the thanksgiving sacrifices. However, one must read between the lines to see that, through these two comparisons, the chosen people feel a sense of wonder and gratitude for God’s gratuitous Covenant. Thirdly, the early Christians recognised in this psalm the privilege of their own experience as the baptised, and Psalm 22/23 became, in the early Church, the hymn for the celebration of Baptism. I shall simply pause at the first verse: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” There are many references in the Bible. The prophet Micah prays thus: Lord, with your staff be the shepherd of your people, the flock that belongs to you, so that the people may perceive themselves as God’s inheritance (cf. Mic 7:14). In Psalm 15/16, however, we find the inverse expression: ‘Lord, my portion and my cup; you determine my lot; the portion that falls to me brings me joy; I truly have the finest inheritance.’ When God is compared to a shepherd and Israel to his flock, one dares to think that the chosen people are a treasure to their God, which is a bold notion, and the use of such language is an invitation to trust, for God is portrayed as a good shepherd—that is, the one who gathers, guides, nourishes, cares for, protects and defends his flock, watching over all its needs. The prophet Micah writes that God will gather together all the remnant of Israel (cf. 2:12), and bring them together as a flock, gathering the lame and the scattered sheep. Zephaniah takes up the same theme: I will save the lame sheep (cf. 3:19), I will gather those who are scattered, which means that whenever we sow division, we are working against God. God, the attentive shepherd, shepherd-guide and defender of his flock. We find this frequently in the Psalms, particularly in Psalm 94/95, which is the daily morning prayer in the Liturgy of the Hours, where we read: ‘We are the people he leads, the flock guided by his hand’. In Psalm 77/78 we read that, like a shepherd, God leads his people, drives his flock into the desert, guides them, defends them, reassures them, and Psalm 79/80 begins with an appeal: “Shepherd of Israel: listen, you who lead Joseph, your flock, reveal your strength and come to save us”. It is clear that in difficult times, when the flock—that is, Israel—feels ill-guided, abandoned, mistreated or, worse still, beaten down, the prophets often turn to the image of the good shepherd to restore hope. It is therefore no surprise to find this theme in Second Isaiah, in the Book of the Consolation of Israel: God, like a shepherd, tends his flock; his arm gathers the lambs, carries them close to his heart, and leads the nursing ewes (cf. 40:11), so that along the roads they may still graze; on the barren heights shall be their pastures; they shall neither hunger nor thirst; the scorching wind and the sun shall no longer strike them, for he, full of compassion, will guide them, lead them to living waters (cf. Is. 49:9–10). Finally, Ezekiel also takes up this theme, saying that thus says the Lord God: “I myself will tend my sheep and search for them, just as a shepherd searches for his flock when he is among his scattered sheep; so I will search for my sheep and rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and thick fog; I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, in the valleys and in all the best places. I will feed them in good pasture, and their grazing grounds will be on the highlands of Israel; there my sheep will lie down in lush pastures and graze in rich pastures. ‘On the mountains of Israel, I myself will tend my flock and let them rest,’ declares the Lord God. ‘The lost sheep I will seek out; the strayed I will bring back; the injured I will bind up; the sick I will strengthen’ (cf. 34:11–16).  Today, in turn, we sing this Psalm 22/23, knowing that Jesus presented himself as the shepherd of the lost sheep, inviting us to place our trust in the tenderness of God the Shepherd. In a time like ours, when our societies are going through days of clouds and gloom, we are invited to contemplate the image of the Good Shepherd and to renew our trust: God, the true Good Shepherd, never abandons us. 

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Peter the Apostle (2:20b–25)

Saint Peter addresses a particular social group, slaves, because slavery still existed at that time and, under Roman law, a slave was at the mercy of his master, an object in his hands. It therefore happened that slaves suffered mistreatment at the whim of their masters, and a Christian slave serving a non-Christian master was exposed to even harsher oppression. Peter essentially encourages us to imitate Christ, who was himself a ‘slave out of love’ (cf. Phil 2:7) and who devoted his entire life to the service of all people. How, then, did he behave? When insulted, he did not respond with insults; when made to suffer, he did not threaten, but entrusted himself to the One who judges justly. Saint Peter urges us to endure suffering even when doing good, knowing that it is a grace in God’s eyes to be able to behave like Christ when facing trials. Certainly there is no Christian vocation to suffering, but in suffering there is a call to behave according to the example of Christ. So it is not suffering for the sake of suffering, but imitating Christ, who himself suffered by taking our sins upon himself on the wood of the cross, so that, having died to sin, we might live for righteousness. For by his wounds we have been healed. God has saved us so that we may live for righteousness. We have been healed of our wounds, which are our inability to love and to give, to forgive, to share. Because of original sin, we were far from God and disoriented, wandering like sheep. In Christ, crucified for our sins, we have regained fidelity to God’s plan, and his wounds have healed us. Christ died to bear witness to the truth, remaining faithful to the Father even on the cross. The cross, a place of utter horror and unbridled human hatred, has become the throne of absolute love. In Jesus’ forgiveness of his executioners, we are given the chance to contemplate and believe in God’s love for humanity, revealed in the cross, which can transform and convert us.  The prophet Zechariah reminds us: “They will look upon him whom they have pierced” (cf. 12:10), and this heals us, saves us—that is, it makes us capable once more of loving and forgiving as Christ did. When we allow ourselves to be moved by this absolute love of God, our hearts of stone become hearts of flesh, capable of living as he did. Let us allow ourselves to be transformed by this contagion of mercy so that Christ may continue, through us too, the work of transforming all humanity: He continues to send out disciples “like lambs among wolves” (cf. Lk 10:3; Mt 10:16) so that, following in his footsteps, we may be witnesses everywhere to God’s infinite mercy.  

From the Gospel according to Saint John (10:1-10)

The coherence of this Sunday’s biblical readings is truly evident, for the psalm, the second reading and the Gospel lead us into a sheepfold. The psalm compares God’s relationship with Israel to a shepherd’s care for his flock: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures”; in the second reading, Saint Peter speaks of people like lost, wandering sheep, invited to return “to your shepherd, the guardian of your souls”. Here, in the Gospel, we read a passage from the long discourse on the Good Shepherd and a sheepfold. To understand it, we must make the effort to imagine the landscape of the Near East, where the flock is gathered for the night in a well-guarded enclosure and in the morning the shepherd comes to release the sheep to lead them to pasture: a scene very familiar to Jesus’ listeners at the time, firstly because there were many flocks in Israel, and secondly because the Old Testament prophets had taken to comparing God’s relationship with his people to that of a shepherd caring for his flock. In the responsorial psalm we have just heard some passages on this subject, and I would add a reference to the prophet Isaiah, who emphasises God’s care for his people: full of compassion, he ‘will lead them to springs of water’ (49:9–10). Furthermore, it was said of the future Messiah that he would be a shepherd for Israel, but at the same time the prophets never ceased to warn against false shepherds, a real danger to the sheep, and a matter of life and death for the flock. Jesus, in turn, takes up precisely this same theme, highlighting the shepherd’s care for his sheep and the danger of false shepherds—a subject he revisits in this Sunday’s Gospel in the form of two brief, successive parables: that of the shepherd, followed by that of the gate. It is interesting that he takes care to introduce both with the solemn formula ‘Truly, truly, I say to you’, an expression that always introduces something new. But if the theme of the shepherd was well known, where is the novelty? On the other hand, John specifies that these two parables are addressed to the Pharisees: Jesus tells the first, but, as he notes, they did not understand what Jesus meant to say to them, so Jesus continues with the second. The Pharisees did not understand the first, or did not want to understand it, perhaps simply because, quite clearly, Jesus suggests that he himself is this good shepherd capable of bringing happiness to his people, and they suddenly find themselves demoted to the rank of bad shepherds. Is it not that they understood perfectly well what Jesus meant, but could not accept it because that would be to admit that this Galilean is the Messiah, the One sent by God? Jesus bears no resemblance whatsoever to the image they had of him, and this is perhaps why Jesus took care to say, ‘Truly, truly, I say to you’. When he begins a discourse with this opening, one must pay particular attention, for it is equivalent to idiomatic expressions frequently found in the prophets of the Old Testament. Indeed, when the Spirit of God breathes into them words that are hard to understand or accept, the prophets always take care to begin—and sometimes end—their preaching with phrases such as ‘the word of the Lord’ or ‘thus says the Lord’. Although they knew this and were therefore aware that Jesus was speaking of matters of great importance, the Pharisees did not understand or did not wish to understand; nevertheless, Jesus persists, and John helps us to understand this deliberate insistence by noting that “then Jesus said again”. Here we see all of Jesus’ patience, as he tries in every way to convince his listeners: “Truly, truly, I say to you: I am the gate for the sheep” and whoever enters through me will be saved. Different ways to help them understand that he is the Messiah, the Saviour, and that only through him does the flock gain access to true life, life in abundance. We can draw one final lesson from this Gospel: Jesus says that the sheep follow the shepherd because they know his voice, and behind this image, we can discern a reality of the life of faith: our contemporaries will not follow Christ, will not be his disciples, if we do not make the voice of Christ resound, if we do not make the Word of God known. Is this not, once again, Jesus’ heartfelt appeal to make the sound of his voice heard by every means possible? 

+Giovanni D’Ercole