We have heard the Gospel account of the call of Matthew. Matthew was a “publican”, namely, a tax collector on behalf of the Roman Empire, and for this reason was considered a public sinner. But Jesus calls Matthew to follow him and to become his disciple. Matthew accepts, and invites Jesus along with the disciples to have dinner at his house. Thus an argument arises between the Pharisees and the disciples of Jesus over the fact that the latter sit at the table with tax collectors and sinners. “You cannot go to these people’s homes!”, they said. Jesus does not stay away from them, but instead goes to their houses and sits beside them; this means that they too can become his disciples. It is likewise true that being Christian does not render us flawless. Like Matthew the tax collector, each of us trusts in the grace of the Lord regardless of our sins. We are all sinners, we have all sinned. By calling Matthew, Jesus shows sinners that he does not look at their past, at their social status, at external conventions, but rather, he opens a new future to them. I once heard a beautiful saying: “There is no saint without a past nor a sinner without a future”. This is what Jesus does. There is no saint without a past nor a sinner without a future. It is enough to respond to the call with a humble and sincere heart. The Church is not a community of perfect people, but of disciples on a journey, who follow the Lord because they know they are sinners and in need of his pardon. Thus, Christian life is a school of humility which opens us to grace.

Such behaviour is not understood by those who have the arrogance to believe they are “just” and to believe they are better than others. Hubris and pride do not allow one to recognize him- or herself as in need of salvation, but rather prevent one from seeing the merciful face of God and from acting with mercy. They are a barrier. Hubris and pride are a barrier that prevents a relationship with God. Yet, this is precisely Jesus’ mission: coming in search of each of us, in order to heal our wounds and to call us to follow him with love. He says so explicitly: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick” (v. 12). Jesus presents himself as a good physician! He proclaims the Kingdom of God, and the signs of its coming are clear: He heals people from disease, frees them from fear, from death, and from the devil. Before Jesus, no sinner is excluded — no sinner is excluded! Because the healing power of God knows no infirmity that cannot be healed; and this must give us confidence and open our heart to the Lord, that he may come and heal us.

By calling sinners to his table, he heals them, restoring to them the vocation that they believed had been lost and which the Pharisees had forgotten: that of being guests at God’s banquet. According to the prophecy of Isaiah: “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the lees well refined.... It will be said on that day, ‘Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation” (25:6, 9).

When the Pharisees see only sinners among the invited, and refuse to be seated with them, Jesus to the contrary reminds them that they too are guests at God’s table. Thus, sitting at the table with Jesus means being transformed and saved by him. In the Christian community the table of Jesus is twofold: there is the table of the Word and there is the table of the Eucharist (cf. Dei Verbum, n. 21). These are the medicines with which the Divine Physician heals us and nourishes us. With the first — the Word — He reveals himself and invites us to a dialogue among friends. Jesus was not afraid to dialogue with sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes.... No, he was not afraid: he loved everyone! His Word permeates us and, like a scalpel, operates deep in the heart so as to free us from the evil lurking in our life. At times this Word is painful because it discloses deception, reveals false excuses, lays bare hidden truths; but at the same time it illuminates and purifies, gives strength and hope; it is an invaluable tonic on our journey of faith. The Eucharist, for its part, nourishes us with the very life of Jesus, like an immensely powerful remedy and, in a mysterious way, it continuously renews the grace of our Baptism. By approaching the Eucharist we are nourished of the Body and Blood of Jesus, and by entering us, Jesus joins us to his Body!

Concluding that dialogue with the Pharisees, Jesus reminds them of a word of the prophet Hosea (6:6): “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice’” (Mt 9:13). Addressing the people of Israel, the prophet reproaches them because the prayers they raised were but empty and incoherent words. Despite God’s covenant and mercy, the people often lived with a “façade-like” religiosity, without living in depth the command of the Lord. This is why the prophet emphasized: “I desire mercy”, namely the loyalty of a heart that recognizes its own sins, that mends its ways and returns to be faithful to the covenant with God. “And not sacrifice”: without a penitent heart, every religious action is ineffective! Jesus also applies this prophetic phrase to human relationships: the Pharisees were very religious in form, but were not willing to sit at the table with tax collectors and sinners; they did not recognize the opportunity for mending their ways and thus for healing; they did not place mercy in the first place: although being faithful guardians of the Law, they showed that they did not know the heart of God! It is as though you were given a parcel with a gift inside and, rather than going to open the gift, you look only at the paper it is wrapped in: only appearances, the form, and not the core of the grace, of the gift that is given!

Dear brothers and sisters, all of us are invited to the table of the Lord. Let us make our own this invitation and sit beside the Lord together with his disciples. Let us learn to look with mercy and to recognize each of them as fellow guests at the table. We are all disciples who need to experience and live the comforting word of Jesus. We all need to be nourished by the mercy of God, for it is from this source that our salvation flows.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 13 April 2016]

Yoke on the Little Ones: religion turned into obsession - for "held back" people

(Mt 11:28-30)

The rabbis chose the disciples from among those who had greater intellectual and ascetic abilities.

Jesus, on the other hand, goes to look for outside the loop, the «infants» (v.25) who did not even have self-esteem.

He frees precisely the sick from external constraints, and allow each one to release his inner strength.

Christ does not announce a very distant God, but Close; and the effective itinerary to become intimate with the Father is to know oneself as liberated family member.

Only here can we grasp Him in the centre of His ‘unveiling’: wise, helpful, united Power; for us, as we are.

The experts of official religion - overflowing with self-love and sense of election - preached an almighty Sovereign to be convinced with sure attitudes and artificial, sharp, imperious making.

They did not let persons be or become. Intransigence was a sign that they did not know the Father.

The Eternal transformed into Controller had become a source of discrimination and obsession for the intimate lives of minute, vexed by the insecurity of distinguishing-avoiding-observing, and by doubts of conscience.

Bothered by living in the first person [and as class] the conversion they preached to others, the professors did not realize they had to empty themselves of absurd presumptions and become - they - students of normal people.

We are not the subordinates of a scowling and all distant but manipulative Lord, and that asks to always be alert, with effort.

The new ones, the nullities, the voiceless, inadequate and invisible, do not know how to calculate in terms of norm and code - ancient «yoke»  (vv.29-30) that crushes vocations.

No one is empowered by God to force directions, to keep an eye on others in a maniacal, perfectionist and meticulous way [exasperating our failures].

The Father does not want to exacerbate events by regulating every detail even "spiritual" starting from irritating patterns of vigilance that do not belong to us.

Sons prefer to let their personal paths of dealing with reality flow; thus tracing their essential and spontaneous energies.

They reason according to codes of life and humanization: nature, unrepeatable history, cultural influences, friendships of wide character. We do not live to prevent.

Only in this way can we enrich the fundamental experience: Love - which does not come from judgments, cuts and separations, but from the Father-Son relationship. The bond that does not get us angry.

Root of the transformation of being into the Unpredictable of God is precisely the hiding, the concealment [‘tapeínōsis’ (‘lowering’), from ταπεινός (tapeinós, "low") [v.29 Greek text; Lc 1:48].

Only those who love strength start from too far away from themselves.

To internalize and live the message:

Do you suffer from some guide or from yourself a kind of controller complex?

[Thursday 15th wk. in O.T.  July 16, 2026]

Religion turned into obsession - for "held back"

(Mt 11:28-30)

The rabbis chose disciples from among those who had greater intellectual and ascetic abilities. Jesus, on the other hand, went looking for the outcasts, the "infants" (v.25) who did not even have self-esteem.

Even for the rebirth that lies ahead today, Christ has no need of false phenomena; on the contrary, it is He who frees from external constraints; He releases inner strength [and also heals the brain]. 

Into the intimacy of the Mystery of divine life enters he who knows how to receive everything and lets go - but remains himself.

God is not distant, but very close; he is not great, but small: the effective itinerary for becoming intimate with the Father is not to make oneself subordinate with effort, but to know how to be familiar disciples.

Only here can we grasp him in the centre of his unveiling: wise power, succouring, united; for us, as we are.

The experts of official religion - overflowing with self-love and a sense of election - envisaged a God to be convinced with confident attitudes and contrived, edgy, imperious actions.

They allowed neither being nor becoming. Their intransigence was a sign that they did not know the Father.

The Eternal One transformed into the Controller had become a source of discrimination and obsession for the intimate lives of minute people, harassed by the insecurity of distinguish-avoid-observe, and by doubts of conscience.

Discouraged from experiencing at first hand (and as a class) the conversion they preached to others, the professors did not realise that they had to empty themselves of absurd presumptions and become - they - pupils of ordinary people.

In short, as children we are incessantly invited to build a multifaceted family, where we are not always on the alert.

We are not the subordinates of a frowning and all-distant - but manipulative - Lord.

Rather, we are called to a paradoxical, personal and class choice: and without forcing it, to recognise ourselves - to stand alongside the humiliated and harassed.

This while provincial false piety continues to drag the burdens - precisely those of the thwarted and weary, of existence made more hesitant rather than free; obsessed and heavy, rather than light.

Why? Without mincing words, the Encyclical Brothers All would answer:

"The best way to dominate and advance without limits is to sow hopelessness and arouse constant distrust, albeit masked by the defence of certain values" (no.15).

As if to say: when the authorities and the top of the class have little credibility, only the sowing of fear produces significant conditioning in the people, and puts them on a leash.

In the widespread Church, only in the last few decades have we overcome the cliché of moralistic and terroristic preaching [e.g. even at Advent time] divorced from a meridian sense of humanisation.

The excluded, dejected and exhausted by meaningless fulfilments have nevertheless continued to meet the Saviour frankly, finding rest of soul, conviction, peace, balance, hope.

By instinct, they were able to carve out what no pyramid religion had ever been able to provide and deploy.

In this way, the new, the voiceless, the inadequate and invisible, never know how to calculate in terms of doctrine and laws, norm and code - ancient 'yoke' (vv.29-30) unbearable, crushing people and concrete vocations; particular autonomies or communionalities.

In short, no 'patriarch' is empowered by God to pack our souls, force directions, and keep a maniacal, perfectionist, meticulous eye on us.

Exacerbating failures, across the board.

Everyone has an inherent way of being in the world, all their own - even if it is habitual. It is an opportunity for momentum and richness for everyone.

We ourselves do not want to exacerbate events by regulating every detail, even 'spiritual' ones, from irritating patterns of vigilance that do not belong to us.

We prefer to let personal ways of dealing with reality flow; thus tracing its essential and spontaneous energies.

We reason according to codes of life and humanisation: temperament, unrepeatable history, cultural influences, broad friendships. We do not live to prevent.

Only in this way can we enrich the fundamental experience: Love - which does not come from judgements, cuts and separations, but from the Father-Son relationship. The only one that does not stigmatise.

The root of the transformation of being in God's unpredictable is precisely concealment, "tapinōsis" [(tapeínōsis, "lowering"), from ταπεινός (tapeinós, "low") [v.29 Greek text; Lk 1:48].

Only those who love strength begin from too far from themselves.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you find yourself more or less free and serene in community?

Does your Calling gain breath or do you feel the burden of others' doubts, judgements, prohibitions and prescriptions?

Do you suffer from some guide or from yourself a kind of controller complex?

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

The Evangelists Matthew and Luke (cf. Mt 11:25-30 and Lk 10:21-22) have handed down to us a “jewel” of Jesus’ prayer that is often called the Cry of Exultation or the Cry of Messianic Exultation. It is a prayer of thanksgiving and praise, as we have heard. In the original Greek of the Gospels the word with which this jubilation begins and which expresses Jesus’ attitude in addressing the Father is exomologoumai, which is often translated with “I praise” (cf. Mt 11:25 and Lk 10:21). However, in the New Testament writings this term indicates mainly two things: the first is “to confess” fully — for example, John the Baptist asked those who went to him to be baptized to recognize their every sin (cf. Mt 3:6); the second thing is “to be in agreement”. Therefore, the words with which Jesus begins his prayer contain his full recognition of the Father’s action and at the same time, his being in total, conscious and joyful agreement with this way of acting, with the Father’s plan. The “Cry of Exultation” is the apex of a journey of prayer in which Jesus’ profound and close communion with the life of the Father in the Holy Spirit clearly emerges and his divine sonship is revealed.

Jesus addresses God by calling him “Father”. This word expresses Jesus’ awareness and certainty of being “the Son” in intimate and constant communion with him, and this is the central focus and source of every one of Jesus’ prayers. We see it clearly in the last part of the hymn which illuminates the entire text. Jesus said: “All things have been delivered to me by my Father; and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the Son and any one to whom the Son chooses to reveal him” (Lk 10:22). Jesus was therefore affirming that only “the Son” truly knows the Father.

All the knowledge that people have of each other — we all experience this in our human relationships — entails involvement, a certain inner bond between the one who knows and the one who is known, at a more or less profound level: we cannot know anyone without a communion of being. In the Cry of Exultation — as in all his prayers — Jesus shows that true knowledge of God presupposes communion with him. Only by being in communion with the other can I begin to know him; and so it is with God: only if I am in true contact, if I am in communion with him, can I also know him. True knowledge, therefore, is reserved to the “Son”, the Only Begotten One who is in the bosom of the Father since eternity (cf. Jn 1:18), in perfect unity with him. The Son alone truly knows God, since he is in an intimate communion of being; only the Son can truly reveal who God is.

The name “Father” is followed by a second title, “Lord of heaven and earth”. With these words, Jesus sums up faith in creation and echoes the first words of Sacred Scripture: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (Gen 1:1).

In praying, he recalls the great biblical narrative of the history of God’s love for man that begins with the act of creation. Jesus fits into this love story, he is its culmination and its fulfilment. Sacred Scripture is illumined through his experience of prayer and lives again in its fullest breadth: the proclamation of the mystery of God and the response of man transformed. Yet, through the expression: “Lord of heaven and earth”, we can also recognize that in Jesus, the Revealer of the Father, the possibility for man to reach God is reopened.

Let us now ask ourselves: to whom does the Son want to reveal God’s mysteries? At the beginning of the Hymn Jesus expresses his joy because the Father’s will is to keep these things hidden from the learned and the wise and to reveal them to little ones (cf. Lk 10:21). Thus in his prayer, Jesus manifests his communion with the Father’s decision to disclose his mysteries to the simple of heart: the Son’s will is one with the Father’s.

Divine revelation is not brought about in accordance with earthly logic, which holds that cultured and powerful people possess important knowledge and pass it on to simpler people, to little ones. God used a quite different approach: those to whom his communication was addressed were, precisely, “babes”. This is the Father’s will, and the Son shares it with him joyfully. The Catechism of the Catholic Church says: “His exclamation, ‘Yes, Father!’ expresses the depth of his heart, his adherence to the Father’s ‘good pleasure,’ echoing his mother’s ‘Fiat’ at the time of his conception and prefiguring what he will say to the Father in his agony. The whole prayer of Jesus is contained in this loving adherence of his human heart to the ‘mystery of the will’ of the Father (Eph 1:9)” (n. 2603).

The invocation that we address to God in the “Our Father” derives from this: “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven”: together with Christ and in Christ we too ask to enter into harmony with the Father’s will, thereby also becoming his children. Thus Jesus, in this “Cry of Exultation”, expresses his will to involve in his own filial knowledge of God all those whom the Father wishes to become sharers in it; and those who welcome this gift are the “little ones”.

But what does “being little” and simple mean? What is the “littleness” that opens man to filial intimacy with God so as to receive his will? What must the fundamental attitude of our prayer be? Let us look at “The Sermon on the Mount”, in which Jesus says: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God” (Mt 5:8). It is purity of heart that permits us to recognize the face of God in Jesus Christ; it is having a simple heart like the heart of a child, free from the presumption of those who withdraw into themselves, thinking they have no need of anyone, not even God.

It is also interesting to notice the occasion on which Jesus breaks into this hymn to the Father. In Matthew’s Gospel narrative it is joyful because, in spite of opposition and rejection, there are “little ones” who accept his word and open themselves to the gift of faith in him. The “Cry of Exultation” is in fact preceded by the contrast between the praise of John the Baptist — one of the “little ones” who recognized God’s action in Jesus Christ (cf. Mt 11:2-19) — and the reprimand for the disbelief of the lake cities “where most of his mighty works had been performed” (cf. Mt 11:20-24).

Hence Matthew saw the Exultation in relation to the words with which Jesus noted the effectiveness of his word and action: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news of the Gospel preached to them. And blessed is he who takes no offence at me” (Mt 11:4-6).

St Luke also presented the Cry of Exultation in connection with a moment of development in the proclamation of the Gospel. Jesus sent out the “seventy-two” others (Luke 10:1) and they departed fearful of the possible failure of their mission. Luke also emphasized the rejection encountered in the cities where the Lord had preached and had worked miracles. Nonetheless the seventy-two disciples returned full of joy because their mission had met with success; they realized that human infirmities are overcome with the power of Jesus’ word. Jesus shared their pleasure: “in that same hour”, at that very moment, he rejoiced.

There are still two elements that I would like to underline. Luke the Evangelist introduces the prayer with the annotation: Jesus “rejoiced in the Holy Spirit” (Lk 10:21). Jesus rejoiced from the depths of his being, in what counted most: his unique communion of knowledge and love with the Father, the fullness of the Holy Spirit. By involving us in his sonship, Jesus invites us too to open ourselves to the light of the Holy Spirit, since — as the Apostle Paul affirms — “we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words… according to the will of God” (Rom 8:26-27), and reveals the Father’s love to us.

In Matthew’s Gospel, following the Cry of Exultation, we find one of Jesus’ most heartfelt appeals: “Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). Jesus asks us to go to him, for he is true Wisdom, to him who is “gentle and lowly in heart”. He offers us “his yoke”, the way of the wisdom of the Gospel which is neither a doctrine to be learned nor an ethical system but rather a Person to follow: he himself, the Only Begotten Son in perfect communion with the Father.

Dear brothers and sisters, we have experienced for a moment the wealth of this prayer of Jesus. With the gift of his Spirit we too can turn to God in prayer with the confidence of children, calling him by the name Father, “Abba”. However, we must have the heart of little ones, of the “poor in spirit” (Mt 5:3) in order to recognize that we are not self-sufficient, that we are unable to build our lives on our own but need God, that we need to encounter him, to listen to him, to speak to him. Prayer opens us to receiving the gift of God, his wisdom, which is Jesus himself, in order to do the Father’s will in our lives and thus to find rest in the hardships of our journey. Many thanks.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 7 December 2011]

Bless you, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for you have kept these things hidden from the wise and the learned and revealed them to the little ones...". (Mt 11:25).

This phrase from the Gospel of today's Sunday in July comes to mind, dear brothers and sisters, as we have gathered for the recitation of the Angelus.

Mary is the one to whom the most was revealed, at the moment when the Angel of the Lord appeared before her, announcing: "Behold, you will conceive a son, you will give birth to him and you will call his name Jesus" (Lk 1:31).

She was the first to receive this Truth that transforms the world..., a Truth so often hidden "from the wise and intelligent" of this world... And She, Mary of Nazareth, accepts it with the greatest simplicity of spirit and, therefore, in the most authentic fullness.

As we gather for the Angelus prayer, let us continually open our hearts to the same Divine Truth with such simplicity! May it come to us again and again, in the different places and circumstances of life, whether at work or at rest, as now at holiday time.

May this Divine Truth enable us to build everywhere and daily the life to which we have been called in Christ...: may we repeat with Christ: 'I bless you, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth'. Such fruit of the Angelus prayer I invoke both for you, dear brothers and sisters, and for me.

2. I pray then for you, for each one of you, and for me, that the words that Jesus addresses in today's liturgy to all those who are "weary and oppressed", let us say: suffering, may be fulfilled upon us.

Behold, he says: "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, who am meek and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is soft and my burden light" (Mt 11:29-30).

For the fulfilment of these sacred words upon myself, particularly in the present period of my life, and also upon many, many of my brothers and sisters who are perhaps feeling their "sweet yoke" even more, I pray to Mary, Health of the Sick, / Mary, Refuge of Sinners / Comfort of the Afflicted, / Mary, Help of Christians / and I pray to all the saints.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 5 July 1981]

During this Jubilee we have reflected many times on the fact that Jesus expresses himself with unique tenderness, a sign of God’s presence and goodness. Today we shall pause on a moving Gospel passage (cf. Mt 11:28-30), in which Jesus says: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest ... learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (vv. 28-29). The Lord’s invitation is surprising: He calls to follow Him people who are lowly and burdened by a difficult life; He calls to follow Him people who have many needs, and He promises them that in Him they will find rest and relief. The invitation is extended in the imperative form: “Come to me”, “take my yoke” and “learn from me”. If only all the world’s leaders could say this! Let us try to understand the meaning of these expressions.

The first imperative is “Come to me”. Addressing those who are weary and oppressed, Jesus presents himself as the Servant of the Lord described in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah. The passage of Isaiah states: “The Lord has given me a disciple’s tongue, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word” (cf. 50:4). Among those who are weary of life, the Gospel also often includes the poor (cf. Mt 11:5) and the little ones (cf. Mt 18:6). This means those who cannot rely on their own means, nor on important friendships. They can only trust in God. Conscious of their humble and wretched condition, they know that they depend on the Lord’s mercy, awaiting from Him the only help possible. At last, in Jesus’ invitation they find the response they have been waiting for. Becoming his disciples they receive the promise of finding rest for all their life. It is a promise that at the end of the Gospel is extended to all peoples: “Go therefore”, Jesus says to the Apostles, “and make disciples of all nations” (Mt 28:19). Accepting the invitation to celebrate this year of grace of the Jubilee, throughout the world pilgrims are passing through the Door of Mercy open in cathedrals and shrines, in so many churches of the world, in hospitals, in prisons. Why do they pass through this Door of Mercy? To find Jesus, to find Jesus’ friendship, to find the rest that Jesus alone gives.

This journey expresses the conversion of each disciple who follows Jesus. Conversion always consists in discovering the Lord’s mercy. It is infinite and inexhaustible: the Lord’s mercy is immense! Thus, passing through the Holy Door, we profess “that love is present in the world and that this love is more powerful than any kind of evil in which individuals, humanity, or the world are involved” (John Paul II, Encyclical Dives in Misericordia, n. 7).

The second imperative states: “Take my yoke”. In the context of the Covenant, biblical tradition uses the image of the yoke to indicate the close bond that links the people to God and, as a result, the submission to his will expressed in the Law. Debating with the scribes and the doctors of the Law, Jesus places upon his disciples his yoke, in which the Law is fulfilled. He wants to teach them that they will discover God’s will through Him personally: through Jesus, not through the cold laws and prescriptions that Jesus himself condemns. Just read Chapter 23 of Matthew! He is at the centre of their relationship with God, He is at the heart of the relations among the disciples and sets himself as the fulcrum of each one’s life. Thus, receiving “Jesus’ yoke”, each disciple enters into communion with Him and participates in the mystery of his Cross and in his destiny of salvation.

The third imperative follows: “Learn from me”. Jesus proposes to his disciples a journey of knowledge and of imitation. Jesus is not a severe master who imposes upon others burdens which He does not bear: this was the accusation He directed at the doctors of the Law. He addresses the humble, the little ones, the poor, the needy, for He made himself little and humble. He understands the poor and the suffering because He himself is poor and tried by pain. In order to save humanity Jesus did not undertake an easy path; on the contrary, his journey was painful and difficult. As the Letter to the Philippians recalls: “he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross” (2:8). The yoke which the poor and the oppressed bear is the same yoke that He bore before them: for this reason the yoke is light. He took upon his shoulders the pain and the sins of the whole of humanity. For a disciple, therefore, receiving Jesus’ yoke means receiving his revelation and accepting it: in Him God’s mercy takes on mankind’s poverty, thus giving the possibility of salvation to everyone. Why is Jesus able to say these things? Because He became all things to everyone, close to all, to the poorest! He was a shepherd among the people, among the poor. He worked every day with them. Jesus was not a prince. It is bad for the Church when pastors become princes, separated from the people, far from the poorest: that is not the spirit of Jesus. Jesus rebuked these pastors, and Jesus spoke about them to the people: “do as they say, not as they do”.

Dear brothers and sisters, for us too there are moments of weariness and disillusion. Thus let us remember these words of the Lord, which give us so much consolation and allow us to understand whether we are placing our energy at the service of the good. Indeed, at times our weariness is caused by placing trust in things that are not essential, because we have distanced ourselves from what really matters in life. The Lord teaches us not to be afraid to follow Him, because the hope that we place in Him will never disappoint. Thus, we are called to learn from Him what it means to live on mercy so as to be instruments of mercy. Live on mercy so as to be instruments of mercy: live on mercy and feel needful of Jesus’ mercy, and when we feel in need of forgiveness, of consolation, let us learn to be merciful to others. Keeping our gaze fixed on the Son of God allows us to understand how far we still have to go; but at the same time it instills us with the joy of knowing that we are walking with Him and we are never alone. Have courage, therefore, have courage! Let us not be robbed of the joy of being the Lord’s disciples. “But, Father, I am a sinner, what can I do?” — “Let yourself be gazed upon by the Lord, open your heart, feel his gaze upon you, his mercy, and your heart will be filled with joy, with the joy of forgiveness, if you draw near to ask for forgiveness”. Let us not allow ourselves to be robbed of the hope of living this life together with Him and with the strength of his consolation. Thank you.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 14 September 2016]

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [12 July 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (55:10–11)

The central theme of this passage is the image of rain: the Word of God is life-giving rain; it does not return until it has fulfilled its mission of forgiveness and reconciliation. This oracle concludes the Second Isaiah (Isaiah 40–55) As prophets often do, Isaiah uses an image: rain and snow are daydreams for an Eastern farmer accustomed to often arid soil. In Babylon, where he is in exile with his people in the 6th century BC, the benefits of rain are experienced. A sun-drenched land, such as Israel or Babylon, flourishes anew at the first rain. The prophet applies this effectiveness to the Word of God: ‘So shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth: it shall not return to me empty.’ Isaiah emphasises this effectiveness for two reasons. 1) He announces the end of the Exile and the return to Jerusalem. For 50 years, the inhabitants of Jerusalem have been in exile in Babylon. Isaiah promises, on God’s behalf, their liberation and their departure from Babylon. To believe in a promise long awaited requires trust in the Word of God. This is why Isaiah is so firm: ‘my word… shall not return to me empty…’. Statements about the effectiveness of the Word (‘Davar’ means both ‘word’ and ‘event’) are always made during difficult times in Israel’s history, when it is necessary to cling to faith.  Examples: ‘All flesh is like grass… dry grass; the flower withers, but the word of our God stands for ever’ (Isa 40:6–8); ‘I am watching over my word to bring it to pass’ (Jer 1:12). These words were spoken to combat idolatry, for during the exile the temptation was strong amongst the inhabitants of Jerusalem, who, in the face of defeat, thought it better to turn to the gods of the victorious Babylonians, since they were effective. There is a sarcastic passage by the prophet Isaiah: poor people who use the same wood to make a fire and to carve idols; then they expect help from those lifeless idols they have made themselves (cf. Isa 44).  2) The other reason for emphasising the power of the word is that the ‘mission’ of the Word is forgiveness and reconciliation. Immediately before this text, he notes: ‘Seek the Lord whilst he may be found; call upon him whilst he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, who will have mercy on him, and to our God, who abundantly forgives. For my thoughts are not your thoughts…’ (Isaiah 55:6–8).  The ‘mission’ referred to here is therefore a mission to proclaim God’s free forgiveness and the reconciliation of humanity with Him: God will ultimately reconcile humanity to Himself. Later, Paul will say the same: ‘God our Saviour desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth’ (1 Tim 2:4). This plan of God is fulfilled through the Incarnation of the Word and the sending of the disciples as ambassadors of reconciliation: “God has reconciled us to himself through Christ and has entrusted to us the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Cor 5:18). 

Responsorial Psalm (64/65)

Psalm 64 is a votive offering from a people written upon their return from exile to thank God for their deliverance: on the surface, it is a song of renewed creation, but it is not merely a song about nature. The liturgy presents us only with the final verses (10–14), which appear to be a contemplation of nature, but the preceding verses are fundamental, and without them the true meaning of the psalm is lost. This is a vow of thanksgiving for the return from exile, made in Babylon in the 6th century BC: if God frees us and brings us back to Israel, we shall celebrate in his temple. Deliverance is experienced as forgiveness because the exile was regarded as a punishment for the sins of the people and their leaders, and the return is a ‘return to favour’: God wipes the sinful past clean.  ‘Our sins have overwhelmed us; you forgive them’. It is clear that Israel’s election becomes a mission, and the people celebrate God’s faithfulness: “Blessed are those whom you have chosen and brought near: they shall dwell in your courts.” Just as the Levites had a special place to serve God in the temple, so Israel has a special place amongst the nations: when the other nations see Israel’s salvation, they will recognise that the God of Israel is the only Saviour. With the return to the homeland, a new life begins; it is a true re-creation. For this reason, the final bucolic section should not be separated from the central theme, which is thanksgiving. Lush nature is an image of new life and of God’s greatest gift: forgiveness

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to the Romans (8:18–23)

Creation is not complete; it is a work in progress and eagerly awaits the revelation of the children of God. This means that creation is not an event of the past: it is an ongoing project, comparable to a work of art.  Let us imagine the creation of an immense bronze sculpture. From the very first day, the artist knows that it will require patience and time: the process involves many successive stages.  There are hardships, struggles and risks to face; one must have a clear understanding of where this sometimes thankless work is leading and assess every possible difficulty. Only the artist can already visualise the finished work in his mind, but the challenge lies in how to describe the glimpsed beauty to his collaborators, and to share it with them with the same passion. God’s project is comparable to the birth of a work of art: Paul speaks specifically of ‘childbirth’. Only God, for now, can describe the finished work. And who has the mission to complete it? We do, each in our own small way, but above all the Spirit who breathes upon the world to direct it towards God. ‘We have received the firstfruits of the Spirit, but we await adoption as children, the redemption of our body’. In the biblical sense, ‘body’ refers to our whole being. Redemption of the body: our whole being, still in chains today, bound by sin, will finally be set free and free to live as children of God. We speak of the ‘firstfruits’, which biblically refer to the first handful of ears of corn or the firstborn lamb of the flock in spring. They were both the beginning and the promise of the entire harvest. A beautiful image to convey that we already possess the down payment of our ultimate salvation: “the love of God has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Rom 5:5). And it is because we already possess the firstfruits, because we are already animated by the Spirit, that we groan as we await our final transformation. Yet it is always the Spirit who continues the work in the world.  In the Fourth Eucharistic Prayer we say: “ He – your Son – has sent from you, Father, as a first gift to believers, the Holy Spirit who continues his work in the world and brings every sanctification to fulfilment”. “Every sanctification” – that is, every transformation.  For now, creation is still “subject to futility”, but in the new heavens and new earth that we await, towards which we strive, this energy will become a passion for unity: ‘According to his promise, we await new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells’ (2 Pet 3:13). Then creation will be ‘set free from the bondage of corruption to enter into the freedom of the glory of the children of God’.  Paul speaks of the whole of creation and the cosmos, not just of us. He takes up a theme familiar to the Bible: the disharmony caused by Adam’s wrong choice plunges the entire garden—that is, the whole of creation—into chaos: “The ground shall be cursed because of you” (Gen 3:17).  Conversely, when righteousness dwells on the earth, not only humans but also animals will know peace. Humanity is part of the cosmos and cannot be conceived of without it. This is one of the meanings of Isaiah’s magnificent ‘parable’ of the animals: ‘The wolf shall dwell with the lamb… the lion shall feed on straw like the ox… They shall do no harm or destroy any more on all my holy mountain, for the knowledge of the Lord shall fill the earth as the waters cover the sea’ (Isaiah 11:6–9). As Paul says in Ephesians: it is ‘the whole universe, the things in heaven and on earth’ that will one day be brought together under one Head, Christ (Ephesians 1:9–10). It is our privilege to be able to catch a glimpse of the completed work even now. Returning to the analogy of the work of art: we who are engaged in God’s plan have an immense privilege compared to an artist’s collaborators: we can already glimpse the completed work: “The Word became flesh and dwelt amongst us; and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14).  Meanwhile, this great labour of bringing forth the new humanity continues amidst pain and groaning. All the more reason for believers to find the courage to proclaim, even now, the glory promised to all creation.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (13:1–23)

Jesus speaks in parables because the ‘parable’ is a literary genre of the Jewish tradition, similar to a narrative with a pedagogical purpose, designed to lead the listener to change their perspective. A parable is not an allegory: not every detail has a precise meaning; the lesson comes from the overall context.  

  The disciples ask why Jesus speaks in parables, and Jesus gives three reasons: firstly, to distinguish between the disciples and the crowd: ‘To you it has been given to know the mysteries of the Kingdom of Heaven, but to them it has not been given.’ Secondly, to console them, because their opponents ‘look without seeing, listen without hearing or understanding’. Jesus quotes a passage from Isaiah to them: “This people’s heart has grown callous; their ears are hard of hearing, and they have closed their eyes…” (Isaiah 6:9–10). Thirdly, to recall the Old Testament theme of the two paths: “To those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have not, even what they have will be taken away.” In Matthew and Mark, this teaching in parables immediately follows the disputes with the Pharisees and with those who refuse to recognise Jesus as the Messiah, revealing their hardened hearts and their imperviousness to the Word. Indeed, the more the listeners shut themselves away in their certainties, the more impervious they become to the Word. The parables are a pedagogical means of touching those hardened hearts. However, the disposition of the heart is decisive in understanding Jesus. I shall now return to these words: ‘To those who have, more will be given’ – which is the theme of the two paths already present in the Old Testament and which always presents human existence as a crossroads. If you take the right path, every step brings you closer to your goal: ‘Give to the wise, and he will become wiser still; instruct the righteous, and he will increase his knowledge’ (Prov 9:9). If, on the other hand, you choose the wrong path, every step takes you further away. A clear choice is therefore required: either to listen, to open your ears to be taught and transformed by the Word; or to refuse to listen and become increasingly hard of hearing. In the parable of the sower, Jesus shows what the obstacles to preaching are.  Jesus is the Word of God made flesh (Jn 1:14); and he communicates only the Father’s Word: “The word that you hear is not mine, but the Father’s who sent me” (Jn 14:24). Yet he finds it difficult to find fertile ground.  What are the difficulties involved in listening to the Word? First of all, the cares of the world which choke out the demands of the Kingdom (Mt 6:25–34). A deeper difficulty is not trusting Jesus and recognising him as the Messiah. The disciples themselves stumbled: after the discourse on the bread of life, many said, ‘This teaching is hard! Who can accept it?’ From that moment on, many of the disciples turned back, and Jesus said to the Twelve, ‘Do you also wish to go away?’ Peter replied, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life’ (John 6:60–68). Despite the difficulties, Jesus proclaims that the harvest—‘a hundredfold, sixtyfold or thirtyfold’—is certain, though it comes at a high price. The Kingdom of God will be established through many failures. To enter into the understanding of the Kingdom is solely a gift from God: ‘It has been granted to you to know the mysteries of the Kingdom of Heaven… Blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear…’ Those who have received the seed in good soil are those who hear the Word and understand it with a receptive heart, capable of receiving from God the light that comes only from Him. This openness, too, is a gift. The Pharisees and the crowd were not yet ready. Jesus had Ezekiel in mind when he said, ‘Those who received the seed among the thorns are those who hear the Word, but the cares of the world and the allure of wealth choke the Word.’ Ezekiel writes: “They come to you as a people gather; they listen to your words, but do not put them into practice; their mouths are full of lusts, their hearts are set on gain. To them you are like a love song, with a sweet voice, well played” (Ezek 33:30–32).  

+ Giovanni D’Ercole

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [5 July 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Zechariah (9:9–10)

This text could be summarised as follows: for the prophet Zechariah, the Messiah is a King of peace, not of war, and humble like the Servant. ‘Rejoice, O Daughter of Zion’ is a message of consolation in times of war. For thus says the Lord: Rejoice, shout for joy, O Daughter of Jerusalem! ‘Daughter of Zion/Jerusalem’ is not a young woman, but the city itself: it is as if to say ‘Jerusalem, rejoice’. The paradox is that whilst the tone is triumphant, in reality it is a time of war because the prophet Zechariah carried out his mission at the beginning of Greek rule (c. 330 BC), following Alexander’s conquests, and it is an ‘oracle of consolation’. This helps us to understand certain expressions such as ‘He will remove the war chariots from Ephraim and the war horses from Jerusalem; he will break the bow of war and proclaim peace to the nations’. At a time when all seems lost, Zechariah leads Israel to hope in God’s intervention. And when Zechariah speaks of the Messiah, he uses the classic terms of the expected Messiah: a king who brings justice and peace: ‘O God, entrust your judgement to the king… May he rule from sea to sea, from the River to the ends of the earth’ (Ps 71/72).  The boldness lies in proclaiming this hope precisely when all human hope has collapsed. Here are three statements by Zechariah, the last of which is decisive. First: “He will proclaim peace to the nations”: it was only after the exile to Babylon that Israel realised that God’s plan encompasses all humanity.  Second: “He will remove… from Ephraim… from Jerusalem”: mentioning Ephraim (the North) and Jerusalem (the South) together is a subtle way of announcing the restoration and reunification of the ancient kingdom of David. By the time Zechariah was writing, the North and South had long since lost their unity and sovereignty. Third: The real novelty: “poor and riding on a donkey, a colt, the foal of a donkey”. The donkey is a humble mount. Alexander’s conquerors rode on quite different steeds. In Jerusalem, Solomon had introduced the warhorse and the parade horse, and was reproached for his taste for grandeur. A king on a donkey had never been seen before.  Jesus presents himself as the Messiah ‘in the manner of Zechariah’. Isaiah had already glimpsed a humble Messiah (Isaiah 50:6; 53:7). The Servant does not bear the title of ‘king’, but carries out the work of the Messiah and is filled with the Spirit of God.  Zechariah, on the other hand, immediately presents the Messiah as King: he takes up the traditional expectation of the Messiah-King. The novelty lies in combining this royal expectation with the humility of Isaiah’s Servant. For his king is humble: the dreams of grandeur, war and power come to an end. Only one thing matters: establishing peace for his people. The four Gospels describe Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem precisely as the coming of this King riding on a donkey. Matthew (Mt 21:5) and John (12:15) quote Zechariah. Perhaps Jesus himself quoted it to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, whilst ‘explaining to them what was written about himself in the Scriptures’ (Lk 24:27). 

Responsorial Psalm (144/145)

In this psalm, it is clear that God’s kingship is mercy towards all. Moreover, Psalm 144/145 is the only one entitled ‘Praise’. Whilst it is true that the entire Hebrew Psalter is called ‘praises’, this is the only psalm actually titled ‘praise’. The tone is one of wonder; the theme is the kingship of the God of the Covenant. In a celebration of the renewal of the Covenant, Israel contemplates the King who protects them freely, without merit. Hence the royal language: “I will exalt you, my God, my King… your faithful ones will proclaim the glory of your kingdom; they will speak of your mighty deeds”. We can discern in this psalm an “alphabet” of tenderness because it is an “alphabetical” psalm, and from Aleph to Tav—that is, “all of life, from A to Z, is immersed in the Covenant, in God’s tenderness”. The verse-by-verse parallelism is very marked: it should be read by two alternating choirs. And it is precisely this parallelism that is instructive, because in the liturgy two pairs of verses are joined which, at first glance, are surprising: “The Lord is faithful in all his words and good in all his deeds; the Lord upholds those who falter and lifts up all who have fallen”.  “The Lord is faithful in all his words and good in all his deeds / He is close to those who call upon him, to those who call upon him in sincerity.” This means that God’s justice, truth and faithfulness are nothing other than his mercy. The greatest justice in the world is not that of the scales, but that of love. If we live “according to the Spirit of God”, as Paul urges the Romans – Sunday’s second reading – we set out precisely on this path: a justice that is synonymous with mercy. The King spoken of in the psalm is not like the kings of the earth; he is almighty and good: he desires only our happiness. When Israel speaks of the power of this King ‘not like the others’, it knows that his power is nothing but love: ‘The Lord is good; he is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and abounding in love.’ This is the finest summary of the entire biblical revelation. Israel speaks from experience: how many times, especially during the exile in Babylon, did it call upon God and plead for forgiveness and a return… Now the people gathered in the rebuilt Temple sing: ‘The Lord is merciful and compassionate.’ ‘May all your works praise you, O Lord, and may your faithful bless you’—may they bless you!... O God, my King, I will exalt you and bless your name for ever and ever.’ The task is to sing it loud enough for everyone to know: the abundance of the Lord’s forgiveness, tenderness and compassion is for everyone, for God loves humanity and his ‘merciful plan’ encompasses all humanity and the whole of creation. It is easy to see why Psalm 144/145 has become the morning prayer of the people who were the first to learn to speak to God as to a father. For the Jewish believer, the morning – the dawn of a new day – irresistibly evokes the dawn of the final Day, of the world to come, of the renewed creation. The rabbinic tradition of the Talmud states that whoever recites this psalm three times a day ‘can be sure of being a child of the world to come’.  

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:9, 11–13)

For Saint Paul, living according to the Spirit means allowing God’s Love to dwell within us. 

The difficulty with this text lies in the word ‘flesh’. For Paul, it does not have the same meaning as it does in our 21st-century English. We contrast ‘body’ and ‘soul’ and risk a huge misunderstanding. When Paul says ‘flesh’, he does not mean the body; when he says ‘Spirit’, he does not mean the soul. Nor does he set two words—‘flesh’ against ‘Spirit’—but rather two expressions: ‘living according to the flesh’ and ‘living according to the Spirit’. For him, it is a matter of choosing between two ways of life, two masters, two courses of action. For Paul, to live ‘according to the flesh’ is to live without God, relying solely on our own strength, confined within the limits of human intelligence and strength. Obviously, that doesn’t get us very far! Or rather, it can take us very far, but in the wrong direction. This is the theme of the ‘two paths’ that recurs constantly in Paul’s writing. Living without God always ends up meaning living far from God, in a state of estrangement that can only get worse. He described this in the opening chapters of the Letter to the Romans, using images from Genesis: to live according to the flesh is to live like Adam – he wants to become like God, but without God’s help. He is mistaken. We, too, sometimes seek happiness on our own, without Him or in opposition to Him, without realising that this is the best way to harm ourselves. ‘Living according to the Spirit’ is the great news  

because living ‘according to the Spirit’ means allowing oneself to be guided by Him, and thus living by the power of God: it changes everything!  The great news of the text is: ‘The Spirit of God dwells in you’, so ‘you are not under the dominion of the flesh, but under the dominion of the Spirit’.  The verb ‘to dwell’ appears three times today: whoever dwells in a house is the master; it is he who is in charge. We have literally become the Spirit’s dwelling places: it is He who is now in command. Our freedom lies in opening the door to Him. We must, however, consider what place we leave for Him in our home, for we are free to open the door to a greater or lesser extent. In many passages, Paul emphasises our freedom: ‘you are not under the dominion of the flesh’ means that we are no longer slaves to the forces of evil; we now have the strength to ensure that true values triumph: love, peace, truth and justice. We have the strength, but we are not obliged: the choice must be made anew at every moment. The more space we make for the Holy Spirit in our home – that is, the more we do what he suggests on the path of love, kindness and forgiveness – the more truly alive we will be. Before his conversion, Paul faithfully observed many moral and religious rules, but the Spirit of Christ did not dwell within him; he still lived ‘under the dominion of the flesh’. And this could have led him to violence and murder, in perfect good faith. Now his whole life is inspired by the Spirit of Christ, to the point of saying: ‘It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me’ (Gal 2:20). Two consequences can be drawn for us who are baptised: 1) We shall rise with Christ: a promise for the future. ‘The Spirit will exercise his power in us and bring to fulfilment in us what he brought to fulfilment in Jesus’ (Rom 8:11).  2) Even now, our lives are transformed just as Paul’s was, because we are now ‘under the rule of the Spirit’. ‘I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live,’ proclaimed Ezekiel (37:14). Paul often speaks of the new spiritual life that springs from Baptism: whilst remaining in our mortal bodies, we can already live by the Spirit of Christ. This is what John calls ‘eternal life’. In practical terms: the Spirit is Love. Simply replace ‘Spirit’ with ‘Love’, and to live according to the Spirit is to allow Him to inspire our words and deeds of love.  A few chapters earlier, Paul wrote to the Romans: ‘God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us’ (Rom 5:5). And to the Galatians he explains the fruits of the Spirit: ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control’ (Gal 5:22): in a word, it is love expressed in all the concrete circumstances of life.  Paul is the heir to the prophets: they all affirm that our relationship with God is reflected in the quality of our relationship with others. In the Servant Songs, Isaiah affirms that to live according to the Spirit of God is to love and serve one’s brothers and sisters. As John says: ‘Whoever does not love remains in death… We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love our brothers and sisters’ (1 John 3:14). 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (11:25–30)

In this text, we find the central theme in Jesus’ ‘gentle yoke and light burden’, which is, in fact, the Law of love that brings rest: ‘ ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’ What is the ‘yoke’?  The yoke is a heavy, solid piece of wood that joins two oxen for ploughing. They join forces, and the stronger one sets the pace. Figuratively speaking, ‘taking up the yoke’ means binding oneself to someone to walk at the same pace, yoked to the same task. In the Old Testament and in Judaism, the expression was commonly used to refer to the Covenant: ‘to take up the yoke of the Torah’, that is, to commit oneself to following God’s Law, knowing that all the strength of the ‘team’ comes from God himself. For a Jew, the service of the Torah is not an unbearable burden; it is the path to true happiness. Ben Sirach said: “You will find your rest in it, and it will become your joy” (Sir 6:28). Jesus takes up this image, linking it to the yoke of the Torah and to rest: “Take my yoke upon you, become my disciples, practise my commandments, and you will find rest for your souls”.  And he adds: “Yes, my yoke is easy to bear and my burden is light.” One senses a criticism of certain Pharisees who had turned the Law into a litany of meticulous obligations. Of them, Jesus says: “They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders; but they themselves are not willing to move them even with a finger” (Mt 23:4). Meanwhile, the majority of the people struggled to observe all the commandments imposed by the religious authorities and felt the contempt directed at them. Jesus invites his disciples to lay aside these burdens that are too heavy: ‘Take my yoke upon you… my yoke is easy and my burden is light’. His yoke is simply the law of love, and it is He who gives us the strength to bear it. ‘Rest’ was also a familiar word. The Old Testament presented the Promised Land as the place of rest given by God to his people. Conversely, when the people were unfaithful, Psalm 94/95 expressed God’s sorrow: ‘This people’s heart is led astray… they shall not enter my rest’. Taking up that psalm, the Letter to the Hebrews announces a new day when, with Christ, we shall enter God’s rest with confidence: ‘Let us therefore strive to enter that rest’ (Heb 4:11). The absolute novelty is that Jesus identifies himself with God, and he alone can say, ‘I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you… my yoke is easy…’. The religious leaders were annoyed by this, whilst those who were weary under the weight of their burdens were drawn to the respect and care he showed to each one.

+Giovanni D’Ercole