Theatrical actors and neutrality

(Lk 13:10-17)

Old and new opinions or common ideas stand in the way of life that calls, that reveals something else, that ignites passions, that wants totality, and activates transformation.

As always, Jesus is present in "synagogue" not to make codified prayers: He is among his people to «instruct» (v.10). The Lord is educating his intimates, in a very decisive way.

In the place of worship the Master finds a subordinate humanity, a panorama of minimums still harassed by the ancient religious obsession - then folded in on themselves, weary, unable to lift their heads.

The spirit of weakness that that same environment injected precisely to the sick and troubled, made the faithful of the assembly [or the habituals in it] totally passive.

A curved existence, dragged at least worse; without horizons.

Christ’s Action extracts from the addicted crowd, frees from conformity and massification. He puts back on its feet the faltering ‘woman’, who takes to praise God seriously, with joy, immediately (vv.12-13).

Figure who although "participated" in the rite, and always among the people gathered together. But before meeting the Lord personally she did not glorify the Father in a real way - nor did she honour his very existence.

No joyful expression for the healing, on the part of leaders - accustomed to inoculating in the souls a soporific climate - indeed, only condemnation. Illustrious and distant authorities.

Individualistic negotiators of the power on duty, incapable of proximity. This was also for various interests of circle, doctrine, supremacy, and institutional prestige.

Then - in the common idea - it seemed that in legalistic or rubricistic terms the sanctification of the day dedicated to the Lord excluded any involvement, and even good works!

In addition to this unhealthy belief, even touching a wounded "flesh" was imagined could make impure!

In short, the spirit of the commandment that imposed the Sabbath rest [historically born for the protection of vast social, cultic, and identity needs] had been completely manipulated and overthrown.

The logic of the young Rabbi is opposed to protocols: only the neglect of the marginalized and enslaved dishonours God.

The only non-negotiable principle is the good of the real woman and man: this is the only key to reading the Gospels.

And the rite must celebrate precisely a fraternal life of welcome and sharing, of happiness, personalization, care, love.

The rest is for Jesus an unbearable comedy, from which his church leaders must stay away: «Theatricals» (v.15) would also define them today - otherwise - our Lord.

We are worth much more than oxen and donkeys (vv.15-16).

The relationship with God is feast, healing, salvation: all concrete - fruit of choice, even social.

Spirituality not empty, and any - where the little ones are forced to delegate their dreams to others.

[Monday 30th wk. in O.T.  October 27, 2025]

Theatre actors and neutrality
(Luke 13:10-17)

Our passion for a full existence would like to guide us who knows where, but sometimes there is an external force that holds us back. A dark power that even prevents us from discovering our true nature.
The opinions of others, doctrines, customs, and common ideas, both old and new, stand in the way of the life that calls us, that makes us discover other things, that ignites passions, that wants totality, and activates transformation.
Meanwhile, the perception that we may be failing to follow the 'right' path creates external conflicts; it intimidates, causes suffering, induces guilt, and sometimes blocks the most sensitive souls.
Those who accuse us then leverage the fear of having to pay the price of freedom (of character and vocation) for any 'mistakes' we may encounter by straying from the prescribed path.
The same dynamics apply, on the one hand, to deference to customs and, on the other, to adherence to fashions, even the most sophisticated and 'up-to-date' ones.
Especially in cultures or religions without the leap of faith, all this takes root and causes discomfort; it makes us believe that we are much less than we should be.
Conversely, even if it seems that we are walking on reckless paths (but ones that belong to us), the risks could bring us joy, greater fulfilment and realisation.

As always, Jesus is present in the 'synagogue' not to recite codified prayers: he is among his people to 'teach' (v. 10).
In particular, he teaches that the Father is not in conflict with his subjects. On the contrary, he supports all his children and gives them a different posture from that of the 'animal' world - to which normal beliefs might perhaps reduce us.
At that time, no woman could participate directly in a liturgy, but in the Gospels, female figures are a parable of the people themselves [in Hebrew, the term Israel is feminine].
Luke brings a 'woman' onto the scene to allude to all oppressed figures, to whom the praying community sometimes offers no comfort or concrete action for emancipation.
People subjected to the 'cultural' paradigm of their particular environment and to the conditioning power of family tradition.
At that time, this cloak forcibly transmitted a paradigmatic spirituality that was reassuring but absolutely conformist.
The common people were completely subject to the head of the family; in addition, they were subject to political power and even enslaved to the fundamentalism of the religious authorities.
It was a humiliating, even atrocious, 'bestial' panorama.

The Lord is educating his intimates in a very decisive manner.
In the place of worship, the Master finds a subordinate humanity, a panorama of the lowly still oppressed by ancient religious obsession - therefore withdrawn, weakened, unable to lift their heads.
The spirit of weakness that this same environment instilled in the infirm made the faithful of the assembly (or those who frequented it) totally passive.
A hunched existence, dragged along as best they could, without horizons.
Christ's action draws out of the addicted crowd, frees them from conformism and massification, and puts the faltering 'woman' back on her feet, who immediately begins to praise God in earnest, with joy (vv. 12-13).
She was a figure who 'participated' in the ritual, and was always among the gathered people, but before meeting the Lord personally, she did not truly glorify the Father - nor did she honour her own existence.

There was no joyful expression of healing on the part of the religious leaders - accustomed to instilling a soporific atmosphere in souls - on the contrary, only condemnation. Distinguished and distant.
Individualistic negotiators of the power of the moment, incapable of closeness. This was also due to various interests of circles, doctrine, supremacy, and institutional prestige.
Then - in the common idea - it seemed that in legalistic or rubric terms, the sanctification of the day dedicated to the Lord excluded any involvement, and good works!
In addition to this unhealthy belief, even touching wounded 'flesh' was thought to make one impure!
In short, the spirit of the commandment that imposed rest on the Sabbath [historically created to protect vast social, cultural and identity needs] had been completely manipulated and overturned.

The young Rabbi's logic is opposed to the protocols: only the neglect of the marginalised and enslaved dishonours God.
The only non-negotiable principle is the good of real women and men: this is the only key to understanding the Gospels.
And the ritual must celebrate a fraternal life of welcome and sharing, of happiness, personalisation, care and love.
The rest is, for Jesus, an unbearable comedy, from which his church leaders must keep their distance: 'Theatre actors' (v. 15) is how our Lord would describe them even today, if not otherwise.

We are worth much more than oxen and donkeys (vv. 15-16).
Our relationship with God is a celebration, healing, salvation: all concrete - the result of choice, even social choice.
And finally, the new Magisterium also breaks away from the previous mentality, which was often diplomatic and neutral:
'Jesus' conclusion is a request: Go and do likewise (Lk 10:37). In other words, he challenges us to put aside all differences and, in the face of suffering, to draw close to everyone. Therefore, I no longer say that I have 'neighbours' to help, but that I feel called to become a neighbour to others" [Fratelli Tutti, n.81].
“Now this woman, being a daughter of Abraham […] should she not be freed from this bond on the Sabbath?” (Lk 13:16).

Spirituality that is not empty, and any kind of spirituality where the little ones are forced to delegate their dreams to others.

39. To suffer with the other and for others; to suffer for the sake of truth and justice; to suffer out of love and in order to become a person who truly loves—these are fundamental elements of humanity, and to abandon them would destroy man himself. Yet once again the question arises: are we capable of this? Is the other important enough to warrant my becoming, on his account, a person who suffers? Does truth matter to me enough to make suffering worthwhile? Is the promise of love so great that it justifies the gift of myself? In the history of humanity, it was the Christian faith that had the particular merit of bringing forth within man a new and deeper capacity for these kinds of suffering that are decisive for his humanity. The Christian faith has shown us that truth, justice and love are not simply ideals, but enormously weighty realities. It has shown us that God —Truth and Love in person—desired to suffer for us and with us. Bernard of Clairvaux coined the marvellous expression: Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis[29]—God cannot suffer, but he can suffer with. Man is worth so much to God that he himself became man in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is revealed to us in the account of Jesus's Passion. Hence in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us; hence con-solatio is present in all suffering, the consolation of God's compassionate love—and so the star of hope rises. Certainly, in our many different sufferings and trials we always need the lesser and greater hopes too—a kind visit, the healing of internal and external wounds, a favourable resolution of a crisis, and so on. In our lesser trials these kinds of hope may even be sufficient. But in truly great trials, where I must make a definitive decision to place the truth before my own welfare, career and possessions, I need the certitude of that true, great hope of which we have spoken here. For this too we need witnesses—martyrs—who have given themselves totally, so as to show us the way—day after day. We need them if we are to prefer goodness to comfort, even in the little choices we face each day—knowing that this is how we live life to the full. Let us say it once again: the capacity to suffer for the sake of the truth is the measure of humanity. Yet this capacity to suffer depends on the type and extent of the hope that we bear within us and build upon. The saints were able to make the great journey of human existence in the way that Christ had done before them, because they were brimming with great hope. 

40. I would like to add here another brief comment with some relevance for everyday living. There used to be a form of devotion—perhaps less practised today but quite widespread not long ago—that included the idea of “offering up” the minor daily hardships that continually strike at us like irritating “jabs”, thereby giving them a meaning. Of course, there were some exaggerations and perhaps unhealthy applications of this devotion, but we need to ask ourselves whether there may not after all have been something essential and helpful contained within it. What does it mean to offer something up? Those who did so were convinced that they could insert these little annoyances into Christ's great “com-passion” so that they somehow became part of the treasury of compassion so greatly needed by the human race. In this way, even the small inconveniences of daily life could acquire meaning and contribute to the economy of good and of human love. Maybe we should consider whether it might be judicious to revive this practice ourselves.

[Pope Benedict, Spe Salvi]

1. When we speak of the dignity and mission of women according to the doctrine and spirit of the Church, we must look to the Gospel, which is the light by which Christians see, evaluate and judge everything.
In the previous catechesis, we saw how Revelation helps us to understand the identity and destiny of women, using the Virgin Mary as an example, according to what the Gospel says. But in that same divine source we find other signs of Christ's will regarding women. He speaks of them with respect and kindness, showing in his attitude a willingness to welcome women and to call upon them to commit themselves to the establishment of the Kingdom of God in the world.
2. We can recall first of all the numerous cases of women being healed (cf. John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem, 13). And those in which Jesus shows his heart as Saviour, full of tenderness when he encounters those who suffer, both men and women. "Do not weep!" he says to the widow of Nain (Lk 7:13). And then he restores her son, risen from the dead. This episode gives us some insight into Jesus' intimate feelings towards his mother, Mary, in the dramatic perspective of participating in his Passion and Death. Jesus also speaks tenderly to Jairus' dead daughter: "Little girl, I say to you, get up!" And, after raising her from the dead, he orders "give her something to eat" (Mk 5:41, 43). Again, he shows his sympathy for the bent woman, whom he heals: and in this case, with the allusion to Satan, he also makes us think of the spiritual salvation he brings to that woman (cf. Lk 13:10-17).
3. In other parts of the Gospel we find Jesus' admiration for the faith of certain women expressed. For example, in the case of the woman with the haemorrhage: "Your faith has saved you," he tells her (Mk 5:34). This praise is all the more valuable because the woman had been subject to segregation imposed by ancient law. Jesus also frees the woman from this social oppression. In turn, the Canaanite woman receives recognition from Jesus: "Woman, your faith is great" (Mt 15:28). It is a compliment that has special significance, considering that it was addressed to a foreigner in the world of Israel. We can also recall Jesus' admiration for the widow who offers her gift in the temple treasury (cf. Lk 21:1-4); and his appreciation for the service he receives from Mary of Bethany (cf. Mt 26:6-13; Mk 14:3-9; Jn 12:1-8), whose gesture, he announces, will be made known to the whole world.
4. Even in his parables, Jesus does not hesitate to use similes and examples drawn from the female world, unlike the midrash of the rabbis, where only male figures appear. Jesus refers to both women and men. If we wanted to make a comparison, we could perhaps say that the advantage lies with women. This means, at the very least, that Jesus avoids even the appearance of attributing inferiority to women.
Furthermore, Jesus opens the door to his Kingdom to women as well as to men. By opening it to women, he wants to open it to children. When he says, 'Let the children come to me' (Mark 10:14), he is reacting to the vigilance of the disciples who wanted to prevent women from presenting their children to the Master. It is as if he were agreeing with the women and their love for children!
In his ministry, Jesus is accompanied by many women who follow him and help him and the community of disciples (cf. Lk 8:1-3). This is a novelty compared to Jewish tradition. Jesus, who attracted these women to follow him, shows in this way how he overcame the prejudices prevalent in his environment, as in much of the ancient world, about the inferiority of women. His struggle against injustice and oppression also includes his rejection of discrimination between women and men in his Church (cf. John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem, 13).
5. We cannot fail to add that the Gospel also shows Jesus' benevolence towards certain sinners, whom he asks to repent, but without railing against them for their mistakes, especially since these involve the co-responsibility of men. Some episodes are truly significant: the woman who goes to the house of the Pharisee Simon (cf. Lk 7:36-50) is not only forgiven her sins, but also praised for her love; the Samaritan woman becomes a messenger of the new faith (cf. Jn 4:7-37); the adulterous woman receives, together with forgiveness, the simple exhortation not to sin again (cf. Jn 8:3-11); (John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem, 14). Without doubt, Jesus does not accept evil, sin, or anyone who commits it: but how much understanding he shows for human frailty and how much goodness he shows towards those who already suffer from their spiritual misery and, more or less consciously, seek the Saviour in him!
6. Finally, the Gospel says that Jesus expressly calls women to collaborate in his work of salvation. Not only does he allow them to follow him to help him and the community of disciples, but he also asks for other forms of personal commitment. Thus, he asks Martha to commit herself to faith (cf. Jn 11:26-27): and she, responding to the Master's invitation, makes her profession of faith before the resurrection of Lazarus. After the Resurrection, he entrusts to the pious women who had gone to the tomb and to Mary Magdalene the task of transmitting his message to the Apostles (cf. Mt 28:8-10; Jn 20:17-18): "The women were thus the first messengers of Christ's Resurrection to the Apostles themselves" (Cathechismus Catholicae Ecclesiae, 641). These are quite eloquent signs of his desire to involve women in the service of the Kingdom.
7. This behaviour of Jesus has its theological explanation in his intention to unify humanity. As St Paul says, he wanted to reconcile all people through his sacrifice, "in one body" and make them all "one new man" (Eph 2:15-16), so that now "there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus" (Gal 3:28). And here is the conclusion of our catechesis: if Jesus Christ has united men and women in the equality of their status as children of God, He commits both to His mission, not by suppressing diversity at all, but by eliminating all unjust inequality and reconciling everyone in the unity of the Church.
8. The history of the early Christian communities tells us how much women helped to spread the Gospel: starting with "Phebe, our sister," as St. Paul calls her, "deaconess of the Church of Cenchreae: . . . she has helped many, including myself" (Rom 16:1-2). I would like to pay tribute to her memory and to that of the many other women who collaborated with the Apostles in Cenchreae, in Rome and in all the Christian communities. With them, we also remember and praise all the other women - religious and lay - who over the centuries have borne witness to the Gospel and transmitted the faith, greatly influencing the growth of a Christian climate in the family and in society.
[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 6 July 1994]

There are five verbs of "closeness" that Jesus lives firsthand and which indicate the criteria of the "final protocol": seeing, calling, speaking, touching, and healing. Not only pastors, who are the first to run the risk of being "hypocrites," but all men will be judged on this. With the warning that fine words and good manners are not enough, because Jesus asks us to touch the flesh of others with our own hands, especially if they are suffering. This is "the way of the good shepherd" that the Pope pointed out in the Mass celebrated on Monday, 30 October, at Santa Marta.
'In this passage from the Gospel,' Francis immediately pointed out, referring to the passage from Luke (13:10-17), 'we find Jesus not on the road as was his custom, but in the synagogue: on the Sabbath, the community goes to the synagogue to pray, to listen to the word of God and also to the sermon; and Jesus was there, listening to the word of God'. But "he also taught, because he had authority, such great moral authority, that they invited him to say a word," precisely to "teach the people." And "in the synagogue there was a woman who was bent over, completely bent over, poor thing, and could not stand up straight: a disease of the spine that had kept her that way for years."
And "what does Jesus do? I am struck," the Pope confided, "by the verbs the evangelist uses to describe what Jesus did: 'he saw' her; 'he called' her; 'he said to her'; 'he laid his hands on her and healed her'." These are "five verbs of closeness."
First of all, the Pontiff explained, "Jesus approached her: the attitude of the good shepherd, closeness." Because "a good shepherd is always close: think of the parable of the good shepherd that Jesus preached," so "close" to the lost sheep that he leaves the others and goes to look for her.
After all, Francis said, "the good shepherd cannot be far from his people, and this is the sign of a good shepherd: closeness. Instead, the others, in this case the head of the synagogue, that small group of clerics, doctors of the law, some Pharisees, Sadducees, the illustrious, lived separated from the people, constantly rebuking them." But, the Pope reiterated, "these were not good shepherds; they were closed off in their own group and did not care about the people. Perhaps they cared, when the religious service was over, about going to see how much money there was in the offerings; that mattered to them, but they were not close to the people, they were not close to the people."
This is why "Jesus always presents himself in this way, close," the Pontiff pointed out. And "many times in the Gospel it appears that closeness comes from what Jesus feels in his heart: 'Jesus was moved,' says a passage from the Gospel, for example, he feels mercy, he draws near." For this reason, "Jesus was always there with the people discarded by that small clerical group: there were the poor, the sick, the sinners, the lepers: they were all there because Jesus had this ability to be moved by illness; he was a good shepherd." And "a good shepherd draws near and has the ability to be moved."
"And I will say," Francis affirmed, "that the third trait of a good shepherd is not to be ashamed of the flesh, to touch the wounded flesh, as Jesus did with this woman: 'he touched', 'he laid his hands on', he touched the lepers, he touched the sinners." It is "a very close closeness, very close." Touching "the flesh," therefore. Because "a good shepherd does not say: 'But, yes, it's okay, yes, yes, I am close to you in spirit'." In reality, "this is a distance" and not closeness.
Instead, the Pope insisted, "the good shepherd does what God the Father did, drawing near, out of compassion, out of mercy, in the flesh of his Son. This is a good shepherd." And 'the great shepherd, the Father, taught us how to be a good shepherd: he lowered himself, he emptied himself, he annihilated himself, he took the form of a servant'.
This is precisely 'the way of the good shepherd', explained the Pontiff. And here we may ask ourselves: ' But what about the others, those who follow the path of clericalism, who do they approach?" These people, Francis replied, "always approach either the power of the moment or money, and they are bad shepherds: they only think about how to climb the ladder of power, be friends with those in power, and negotiate everything or think about their pockets, and these are the hypocrites, capable of anything." Certainly, "these people do not care about the people. And when Jesus calls them that beautiful adjective he uses so often with them — 'hypocrites' — they are offended: 'But we, no, we follow the law'." Instead, "the people were happy: it is a sin for the people of God to see when bad shepherds are beaten; it is a sin, yes, but they have suffered so much that they 'enjoy' this a little bit."
"Let us think," suggests the Pontiff, "of the good shepherd, let us think of Jesus who sees, calls, speaks, touches and heals; let us think of the Father who becomes flesh in his Son, out of compassion." And "this is the way of the good shepherd, the shepherd we see here today, in this passage from the Gospel: it is a grace for the people of God to have good shepherds, shepherds like Jesus, who are not ashamed to touch wounded flesh, who know that on this — not only them, but all of us — we will be judged: I was hungry, I was in prison, I was sick... '.
'The criteria of the final protocol,' concluded the Pope, 'are the criteria of closeness, the criteria of this total closeness' in order to 'touch, share the situation of God's people'. And 'let us not forget this: the good shepherd always draws close to the people, always, just as God our Father drew close to us, in Jesus Christ made flesh'.
[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano, 31 October 2017]

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [19 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us. Once again, a strong reminder of how to live our faith in every situation in life.

First Reading from the Book of Exodus (17:8-13)

 The test of faith. On Israel's journey through the desert, the encounter with the Amalekites marks a decisive stage: it is the first battle of the people freed from Egypt, but also the first great test of their faith. The Amalekites, descendants of Esau, represent in biblical tradition the hereditary enemy, a figure of evil who tries to prevent God's people from reaching the promised land. Their sudden attack on the rear of the caravan — the weakest and most tired — reveals the logic of evil: to strike where faith falters, where fatigue and fear open the door to doubt. This episode takes place at Rephidim, the same place as Massah and Meribah, where Israel had already murmured against God because of the lack of water. There the people had experienced the trial of thirst, now they experience the trial of combat: in both cases, the temptation is the same — to think that God is no longer with them. But once again God intervenes, showing that faith is purified through struggle and that trust must remain firm even in danger. While Joshua fights in the plain, Moses climbs the mountain with God's staff in his hand — a sign of his presence and power. The story does not focus on the movements of the troops, but on Moses' gesture: his hands raised towards the sky. It is not a magical gesture: it is prayer that sustains the battle, faith that becomes strength for the whole people. When Moses' arms fall, Israel loses; when they remain raised, Israel wins. Victory therefore depends not only on the strength of weapons, but on communion with God and persevering prayer. Moses grows tired, Aaron and Hur support his hands: this is the image of spiritual brotherhood, of the community that bears the weight of faith together. Thus, prayer is not isolation, but solidarity: those who pray support others, and those who fight draw strength from the prayers of their brothers and sisters. This episode thus becomes a paradigm of spiritual life: Israel, fragile and still on its journey, learns that victory does not come from human strength, but from trust in God. Prayer, represented by Moses' raised hands, does not replace action but accompanies and transfigures it. The person who prays and the person who fights are two faces of the same believer: one fights in the world, the other intercedes before God, and both participate in the one work of salvation. Finally, the praying community becomes the living sign of God's presence at work in his people, and when a believer no longer has the strength to pray, the faith of his brothers and sisters sustains him. The story of Amalek at Rephidim is not just a page in history, but an icon of Christian life: we all live our battles knowing that victory belongs to God and that prayer is the source of all strength and the guarantee of God's presence.

Responsorial Psalm (120/121) 

Psalm 120/121 belongs to the group of 'Psalms of Ascents' (Ps 120-134), composed to accompany the pilgrimages of the people of Israel to Jerusalem, the holy city situated on high, symbol of the place where God dwells among his people. The verb 'to ascend' indicates not only geographical ascent but also and above all a spiritual movement, a conversion of the heart that brings the believer closer to God. Each pilgrimage was a sign of the Covenant and an act of faith for Israel: the people, travelling from all parts of the country, renewed their trust in the Lord. When the psalm speaks in the first person — "I lift up my eyes to the mountains" — it actually gives voice to the collective "we" of all Israel, the people marching towards God. This journey is an image of the entire history of Israel, a long march in which fatigue, waiting, danger and trust are intertwined. The roads that lead to Jerusalem, in addition to being stone roads, are spiritual paths marked by trials and risks. Fatigue, loneliness, external threats — robbers, animals, scorching sun, cold nights — become symbols of the difficulties of faith. In this situation, the words of the psalm are a profession of absolute trust: "My help comes from the Lord: he   made heaven and earth." These words affirm that true help comes not from human powers or mute idols, but from the living God, Creator of the universe, who never sleeps and never abandons his people. He is called "the Guardian of Israel": the one who watches over us constantly, who accompanies us, who is close to us like a shadow that protects us from the sun and the moon. The Hebrew expression "at your right hand" indicates an intimate and faithful presence, like that of an inseparable companion. The people who pray this psalm thus remember the pillar of cloud and fire that guided Israel in the desert, a sign of God who protects day and night, accompanying them on their journey and guarding their lives. Therefore, the psalmist can say: 'The Lord will guard you from all evil; he will guard your life. The Lord will guard you when you go out and when you come in, from now on and forever." The pilgrim who "goes up" to Jerusalem becomes the image of the believer who entrusts himself to God alone, renouncing idols and false securities. This movement is conversion: turning away from what is vain to turn towards the God who saves. In the New Testament, Jesus himself was able to pray this psalm as he "went up to Jerusalem" (Lk 9:51). He walks the path of Israel and of every human being, entrusting his life to the Father. The words "The Lord will guard your life" find their full fulfilment at Easter, when the pilgrim's return becomes resurrection because it is a return to new and definitive life. Thus, Psalm 121 is much more than a prayer for travel: it is the confession of faith of a people on a journey, the proclamation that God is faithful and that his presence accompanies every step of existence. In it, historical memory, theological trust and eschatological hope come together. Israel, the believer and Christ himself share the same certainty: God guards life and every ascent, even the most difficult, leads to communion with Him.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to Timothy (3:14-4:2)

In this passage from the second letter to Timothy (3:14-4:2), Paul entrusts his disciple with the most precious legacy: fidelity to the Word of God. It is a text written at a difficult time, marked by doctrinal confusion and tensions in the community of Ephesus. Timothy is called to be a 'guardian of the Word' in the midst of a world that risks losing the truth it has received. The first words, 'Remain faithful to what you have learned', make it clear that others have abandoned the apostolic teaching: fidelity then becomes an act of spiritual resistance, a remaining anchored to the source. Paul speaks of 'dwelling' in the Word: faith is not an object to be possessed, but an environment in which to live. Timothy entered into it as a child thanks to his mother Eunice and his grandmother Lois, women of faith who passed on to him a love for the Scriptures. Here we have a reference to the communal and traditional character of faith: no one discovers the Word on their own, but always in the Church. Access to Scripture takes place within the living Tradition, that 'chain' that starts with Christ, passes through the apostles and continues in believers. 'Tradere' in Latin means 'to transmit': what is received is given. In this fidelity, Scripture is a source of living water that regenerates the believer and roots him in the truth. Paul affirms that the Holy Scriptures can instruct for the salvation that is obtained through faith in Christ Jesus (v. 15). The Old Testament is the path that leads to Christ: the entire history of Israel prepares for the fulfilment of the Paschal mystery. 'All Scripture is inspired by God': even before it became dogma, it was the deep conviction of the people of Israel, from which arose respect for the holy books kept in the synagogues. Divine inspiration does not cancel out the human word, but transfigures it, making it an instrument of the Spirit. Scripture, therefore, is not just another book, but a living presence of God that forms, educates, corrects and sanctifies: thanks to it, the man of God will be perfect, equipped for every good work (vv. 16-17). From this source springs the mission, and Paul entrusts Timothy with the decisive command: "Proclaim the Word, insist on it at the opportune and inopportune moment" (v. 4:2) because the proclamation of the Gospel is a necessity, not an optional task. The solemn reference to Christ's judgement of the living and the dead shows the gravity of apostolic responsibility. Proclaiming the Word means making present the Logos, that is, Christ himself, the living Word of the Father. It is He who communicates himself through the voice of the preacher and the life of the witness. But proclamation requires courage and patience: it is necessary to speak when it is convenient and when it is not, to admonish, correct, encourage, always with a spirit of charity and a desire to build up the community. Truth without love hurts; love without truth empties the Word. For Paul, Scripture is not only memory, but the dynamism of the Spirit. It shapes the mind and heart, forms judgement, inspires choices. Those who dwell in it become "men of God," that is, persons shaped by the Word and made capable of serving. Timothy is invited not only to guard the doctrine, but to make it a source of life for himself and for others. Thus, the Word, accepted and lived, becomes a place of encounter with Christ and a source of renewal for the Church. The apostle does not found anything of his own, but transmits what he has received; in the same way, every believer is called to become a link in this living chain, so that the Word may continue to flow in the world like water that quenches, purifies and fertilises. In summary: Scripture is the source of faith, Tradition is the river that transmits it, and proclamation is the fruit that nourishes the life of the Church. To remain in the Word means to remain in Christ; to proclaim it means to let Him act and speak through us. Only in this way does the man of God become fully formed and the community grow in truth and charity.

From the Gospel according to Luke (18:1-8)

The context of this parable is that of the 'end times': Jesus is walking towards Jerusalem, towards His Passion, death and Resurrection. The disciples perceive the tragic and mysterious epilogue, feel the need for greater faith ('Increase our faith') and are anxious to understand the coming of the Kingdom of God. The term 'Son of Man', already present in Daniel (7), indicates the one who comes on the clouds, receives universal and eternal kingship, and also represents, in the original sense, a collective being, the people of the Saints of the Most High. Jesus uses it to refer to himself, reassuring his disciples about God's ultimate victory, even in a context of imminent difficulties. The reference to judgement and the Kingdom emphasises the eschatological perspective: God will do justice to his chosen ones, the Kingdom has already begun, but it will be fully realised at the end. The parable of the persistent widow is at the heart of the message: before an unjust judge, the widow is not discouraged because her cause is just. This example combines two virtues essential to Christians: humility, recognising one's poverty (first beatitude: 'Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God'), and perseverance, confident insistence in prayer and justice. The widow's persistence becomes a paradigm for faith in waiting for the Kingdom: our cause, too, based on God's will, requires tenacity. The text also recalls the connection with the episode in the Old Testament: during the battle against the Amalekites, Moses prays persistently on the hill while Joshua fights on the plain. The victory of the people depends on the presence and intervention of God, supported by Moses' persevering prayer. The parable of the widow has the same function: to remind believers, of all times, that faith is a continuous struggle, a test of endurance in the face of difficulties, opposition and doubts. Jesus' concluding question, "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?", is a universal warning: faith should never be taken for granted; it must be guarded, nurtured and protected. From the early morning of the Resurrection until the final coming of the Son of Man, faith is a struggle of constancy and trust, even when the Kingdom seems far away. The widow teaches us how to face the wait: humble, stubborn, confident, aware of our weakness but certain of God's justice and saving will, which never disappoints those who trust in him totally. Luke seems to be writing to a community threatened by discouragement, as suggested by the final sentence: 'When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?'. This phrase, while appearing pessimistic, is actually a warning to be vigilant: faith must be guarded and nurtured, not taken for granted. The text forms an inclusion: the first sentence teaches what faith is — 'We must always pray without losing heart' — and the final sentence calls for perseverance. Between the two, the example of the stubborn widow, treated unjustly but who does not give up, shows concretely how to practise this faith. The overall teaching is clear: faith is a constant commitment, an active resistance, which requires stubbornness, humility and trust in God's justice, even in the face of difficulties and the apparent absence of a response.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole

XXVIII Sunday in Ordinary Time (year C)  [12 October 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! Reflecting on the gratitude that is easier to see in those who are far away is an invitation to review our personal relationship with God.

First Reading from the Second Book of Kings (5:14-17)

This Sunday's reading begins at the moment when General Naaman, apparently as docile as a lamb, immerses himself in the waters of the Jordan, on the orders of the prophet Elisha; but we are missing the beginning of the story: let me tell it to you. Naaman is a Syrian general highly esteemed by the king of Aram (present-day Damascus). Obviously, for the people of Israel, he is a foreigner and at times even an enemy, and above all, being a pagan, he does not belong to the chosen people. Even more serious: he is a leper, which means that soon everyone will avoid him, and for him it is a real curse. Fortunately for him, his wife has an Israelite slave girl who tells her mistress, 'There is a great prophet in Samaria who could surely heal Naaman'. The mistress tells her husband Naaman, who tells the king of Aram: the prophet of Samaria can heal me. And since Naaman is in great favour, the king writes a letter of introduction to the king of Samaria recommending Naaman, who is afflicted with leprosy, to go to the prophet Elisha. The king of Israel does not know that the prophet Elisha can heal him; on the contrary, he is in a panic because he thinks that the king of Syria is looking for a pretext to wage war on him. Elisha hears about this and asks Naaman to come. Naaman arrives with his entire entourage and luggage full of gifts for the healer. In reality, only a servant opens the door slightly and simply tells him that his master orders him to immerse himself seven times in the Jordan to be purified.  Naaman finds this offensive and wonders what is the point of immersing himself in the Jordan when there are rivers in Syria that are much more beautiful than the Jordan. Enraged, he sets off again for Damascus, but fortunately his servants say to him: 'Did you expect the prophet to ask you to do extraordinary things to heal you, and you would have done them? Now he is asking you to do something ordinary, so why can't you do it? Naaman allows himself to be persuaded, and this is where today's reading begins. Naaman obeys a simple order by immersing himself seven times in the Jordan and is healed. It seems simple to us, but for a great general of a foreign army, this obedience is not simple at all! The rest of the text demonstrates this. Naaman is healed and returns to Elisha to tell him two things. The first: 'Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel', and he adds that when he returns to his country, he will offer sacrifices to him. The author of this passage takes the opportunity to say to the Jews: you have had the protection of the one God for centuries, and now you see that God is also for foreigners, while you continue to be tempted by idolatry. This foreigner, on the other hand, quickly understood where his healing came from. Naaman also tells Elisha that he wants to give him a gift to thank him, but the prophet refuses emphatically: God's gifts cannot be bought. Finally, why does Naaman want to take some soil from Israel with him? He explains that he does not want to offer burnt offerings and sacrifices to other gods, but only to the God of Israel. This shows that, at the time of the prophet Elisha, all the peoples neighbouring Israel believed that the gods reigned over specific territories and, in order to offer sacrifices to the God of Israel, Naaman believed he had to take with him some soil from the land over which this God reigned.

Responsorial Psalm (97/98, 1-4)

In the first reading, Naaman, a Syrian general and therefore a pagan, is healed by the prophet Elisha and, thanks to this, discovers the God of Israel. Naaman is therefore perfectly suited to sing this psalm, which speaks of God's love both for the pagans, whom the Bible calls the nations (or peoples), and for Israel. 'The Lord has made known his salvation, he has revealed his justice in the sight of the nations' (v. 2) and immediately afterwards (v. 3): 'He has remembered his love, his faithfulness to the house of Israel', which is the consecrated expression to remember the election of Israel, the completely privileged relationship that binds this small people to the God of the universe. The simple words "his faithfulness" and "his love" are a reference to the Covenant: it is through these words that, in the desert, God made himself known to the people he chose. The phrase "God of love and faithfulness" indicates that Israel is the chosen people, but the previous phrase reminds us that if Israel has been chosen, it is not to enjoy the privilege selfishly, not to consider itself the only child, but to behave as an older brother, and its role is to proclaim God's love for all people, so as to gradually integrate all humanity into the Covenant. In this psalm, this certainty even marks the composition of the text; if you look more closely, you will notice the inclusion of verses 2 and 3. I would remind you that inclusion is a literary device often found in the Bible. It is a bit like a box in a newspaper or magazine; obviously, the purpose is to highlight the text written inside the box. In the Bible, it works the same way: the central text is highlighted, framed by two identical phrases, one before and one after. Here, the central phrase speaks of Israel, the chosen people, and is framed by two phrases that speak of the nations: the first phrase, 'The Lord has made known his salvation, he has revealed his righteousness in the sight of the nations', and the second concerns Israel: "He has remembered his love, his faithfulness to the house of Israel" and the third: "All the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God". Here the term "the nations" does not appear but is replaced by the expression "all the ends of the earth". This means that the election of Israel is central, but we must not forget that it must radiate to all humanity. A second emphasis of this psalm is the very marked proclamation of God's kingship. For example, in the Temple of Jerusalem they sing: "Acclaim the Lord, all the earth, acclaim your king." This psalm is a cry of victory, the cry that rises on the battlefield after triumph, the teru'ah in honour of the victor. The victory of God, referred to here, is twofold: first, it is the victory of liberation from Egypt, and second, it is the victory expected at the end of time, God's definitive victory over all the forces of evil. Even then, God was acclaimed as the new king was once acclaimed on the day of his coronation, with cries of victory to the sound of trumpets, horns and the applause of the crowd. But while with the kings of the earth there was always disappointment, this time we know that we will not be disappointed; that is why this time the teru'ah must be particularly vibrant! Christians acclaim God with even greater force, because they have seen the king of the world with their own eyes: since the Incarnation of the Son, they know and affirm, against all apparent evidence to the contrary, that the Kingdom of God, that is, of love, has already begun.

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (2:8-13)

The hymn "Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead; he is our salvation, our eternal glory" is found in its original context in the Second Letter to Timothy, where Paul writes: "Remember Jesus Christ, descendant of David". In the Jewish milieu, it was essential to affirm that Jesus was truly of the lineage of David in order to be recognised as the Messiah. Paul adds: 'He was raised from the dead: this is my Gospel'. The question is radical: either Jesus rose from the dead, or he did not. Paul, initially convinced that it was an invention, had tried to prevent the spread of this proclamation. But after his experience on the road to Damascus, he saw the Risen One and became his witness. Jesus is the conqueror of death and evil, and with him a new world is born, in which believers must participate with their whole lives. For this reason, Paul consecrates himself to proclaiming the Gospel and invites Timothy to do the same, preparing him for opposition and encouraging him to fight the good fight with courage, gentleness and trust in the Spirit he has received. The resurrection is the heart of the Christian faith. While for many Jews the resurrection of the flesh was credible, for the Greeks it was difficult to accept, as shown by the failure of Paul's preaching in Athens. Precisely because of his proclamation of the resurrection, Paul was imprisoned several times: "Christ has been raised from the dead; this is my Gospel. For his sake I suffer, even to the point of being chained like a criminal." Timothy, too, Paul warns, will have to suffer for the Gospel. Paul's chains do not stop the truth: 'I am in chains, but the Word of God is not in chains'. Jesus himself had said that if they remain silent, the stones will cry out, because nothing can stop the truth. Paul adds that he endures everything for the elect, so that they too may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. Here the opening hymn echoes and probably follows an ancient baptismal hymn introduced with the formula: "Here is a word worthy of faith: If we died with him, we will live with him; if we persevere, we will reign with him." It is the mystery of Baptism, already explained in Romans 6: with it we are immersed in the death and resurrection of Christ, united with him in an inseparable way. Passion, death and resurrection constitute a single event that inaugurated a new era for humanity. The last sentences highlight the tension between human freedom and God's faithfulness because if we deny him, he too will deny us: God respects our conscious rejection. If we lack faith, he remains faithful, because he cannot deny himself, since God always remains faithful even in the face of our frailty.

From the Gospel according to Luke (17:11-19)

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, where his passion, death and resurrection await him. Luke emphasises the itinerary because what he narrates is linked to the mystery of salvation. During the journey, he meets ten lepers who, forced to remain at a distance according to the Law, cry out to him, calling him 'Master': this is a sign both of their weakness and of the trust they place in him. Unlike another episode (Lk 5:12), this time Jesus does not touch them, but only orders them to go and present themselves to the priests, a necessary step for official recognition of their healing. The order is already a promise of salvation. The story recalls the episode of Naaman and the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 5) in the first reading because as the ten set out on their journey, their leprosy disappears: their trust saves them. The disease had united them, but the healing reveals the difference in their hearts: nine Jews go to the priests, only one, a Samaritan, considered a heretic, returns. He recognises that life and healing come from God, glorifies God aloud, prostrates himself at Jesus' feet and gives him thanks: an attitude reserved for God. Thus he recognises the Messiah and understands that the true place to give glory to God is no longer the Temple in Jerusalem, but Jesus himself. His return is conversion, and Jesus proclaims it: "Get up and go; your faith has saved you." Jesus asks the other nine to account for themselves: they met the Messiah but did not recognise him, choosing to run immediately to the Temple to fulfil the Law without stopping to give thanks. The Gospel thus emphasises a recurring theme: salvation is for everyone, but often it is not those closest to God who welcome it: "He came among his own, and his own did not recognise him." Already the Old Testament affirmed the universality of salvation (cf. Ps 97/98). The first reading recalls the conversion of Naaman, a foreigner, and Jesus had rebuked Nazareth, citing the example of the Syrian who was healed while many lepers in Israel were not (Lk 4:27), arousing the anger of the synagogue. In Acts, Luke will again show the contrast between the rejection of part of Israel and the acceptance of the pagans. This question was alive in the early Christian communities: did one have to be Jewish to receive baptism, or could pagans also be accepted? The story of the converted Samaritan recalls three truths: the salvation brought by Christ through his passion, death and resurrection is for everyone; thanksgiving is often best performed by foreigners or heretics; the poor are the most open to encountering God. In conclusion, on the road to Jerusalem, that is, to salvation, Jesus leads all men who are willing to convert, whatever their origin or religion.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole