Dear Brothers and Sisters,

In the Gospel today the Lord Jesus repeats to us the words that we know so well but that never fail to move us: “Come to me, all who labour and are heavily laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Mt 11:28-30).

As Jesus went along the roads of Galilee proclaiming the Kingdom of God and healing many sick people, “he had compassion on the crowds, for they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (cf. Mt 9:35-36).

Jesus’ gaze seems to extend to this day, to our world. Today, too, it rests on so many people oppressed by difficult living conditions and lacking valid reference points to find a meaning and a purpose for their existence. Exhausted multitudes are found in the poorest countries, harshly tried by poverty; and even in the richer countries there are numerous dissatisfied men and women who are even ill with depression. Let us think of the many evacuees and refugees, of all those who emigrate, putting their own lives at risk. Christ's gaze then rests his gaze upon all these people, indeed upon each one of these children of the Father who is in Heaven and repeats: “Come to me, all...” of you.

Jesus promised he would give everyone “rest”, but on one condition: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart”. What is this “yoke” which lightens instead of burdening, which instead of oppressing, uplifts? The “yoke” of Christ is the law of love, it is his commandment which he bequeathed to his disciples (cf. Jn 13:34; 15:12). The true remedy for humanity's wounds, both material — such as hunger and injustice in all its forms — and psychological and moral, caused by a false well-being, is a rule of life based on fraternal love, whose source is in the love of God. For this reason it is necessary to abandon the way of arrogance, of violence used to obtain ever more powerful positions, to assure oneself of success at any price. 

It is also necessary to give up the aggressive attitude with regard to the environment which has prevailed in recent centuries and to adopt a reasonable “gentleness”. However, in human, interpersonal and social relations above all, the rule of respect and of non-violence, namely, the power of the truth against every kind of abuse is what can assure a future worthy of the human being.

Dear friends, yesterday we celebrated a particular liturgical Memorial of Mary Most Holy, praising God for her Immaculate Heart. May the Virgin help us to “learn” true humility from Jesus, to take up his light yoke with determination, to experience inner peace and to become in our turn capable of comforting other brothers and sisters who are walking with difficulty on life's path.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 3 July 2011]

1. We read in the Second Vatican Council’s constitution *Lumen Gentium* concerning the earthly mission of Jesus Christ: “Thus came the Son, sent by the Father, who in him, before the foundation of the world, chose us and predestined us to be adopted as his children, because in him he wished to bring all things together (cf. Eph 1:4–5, 10). Therefore, Christ, in order to fulfil the Father’s will, inaugurated the Kingdom of Heaven on earth and revealed the mystery of himself to us, and through his obedience brought about our redemption” (Lumen Gentium, 3).
This text enables us to summarise everything we have discussed in our recent catechesis. In those sessions, we have sought to highlight the essential aspects of Christ’s messianic mission. Now the conciliar text reaffirms the truth of the close and profound connection that exists between this mission and the One sent, Christ himself, who, in fulfilling it, reveals his personal dispositions and gifts. Indeed, certain fundamental characteristics can be discerned throughout Jesus’ conduct; these are also expressed in his preaching and serve to lend full credibility to his messianic mission.
2. In his preaching and conduct, Jesus demonstrates, first and foremost, his profound union with the Father in thought and word. What he wishes to convey to his listeners (and to all humanity) comes from the Father who ‘sent him into the world’ (Jn 10:36). ‘For I have not spoken on my own authority, but the Father who sent me—he himself has commanded me what I must say and proclaim. And I know that his commandment is eternal life. The things, therefore, that I say, I say just as the Father has told me’ (Jn 12:49–50). ‘As the Father has taught me, so I speak’ (Jn 8:28). So we read in the Gospel of John. But a similar statement by Jesus is also recorded in the Synoptic Gospels: “All things have been handed over to me by my Father” (Mt 11:27), and by that “all things” Jesus is expressly referring to the content of the revelation he brought to mankind (cf. Mt 11:25–27; cf. Lk 10:21–22). In these words of Jesus we find the manifestation of the spirit with which he carries out his preaching. He is and remains the ‘faithful witness’ (Rev 1:5). Included in and highlighted by this witness is that particular ‘obedience’ of the Son to the Father, which at its climax will prove to be ‘obedience unto death’ (cf. Phil 2:8).
3. In his preaching, Jesus also demonstrates that his absolute fidelity to the Father—as the first and last source of ‘all’ that is to be revealed—is the essential foundation of his truthfulness and credibility. ‘My teaching is not my own, but comes from the one who sent me,’ says Jesus, and he adds: ‘Whoever speaks on his own seeks his own glory; but whoever seeks the glory of the one who sent him is true, and there is no unrighteousness in him’ (Jn 7:16, 18). Coming from the mouth of the Son of God, such words may seem surprising. For they are spoken by the One who is ‘of the same substance as the Father’. Yet we must not forget that he also speaks as a man. He is keen to ensure that his listeners harbour no doubt whatsoever on a fundamental point: namely, that the truth he conveys is divine and comes from God. He is keen to ensure that people, as they listen to him, find in his word access to the very divine source of revealed truth. That they do not focus solely on the one who teaches, nor allow themselves to be captivated by the ‘originality’ and ‘extraordinariness’ of what, in this doctrine, comes from the Master himself. The Master “does not seek his own glory”. He seeks solely and exclusively “the glory of the one who sent him”. He does not speak “in his own name”, but in the name of the Father.
This, too, is an aspect of “self-emptying” (“kenosis”), which, according to Saint Paul (cf. Phil 2:7), will reach its culmination in the mystery of the Cross.
4. Christ is the “faithful witness”. This faithfulness – in the exclusive pursuit of the Father’s glory, not his own – springs from the love he intends to show: “The world must know that I love the Father” (Jn 14:31). But his revelation of love for the Father also includes his love for humankind. Indeed, he “went about doing good” (cf. Acts 10:38). His entire earthly mission is filled with acts of love towards humanity, especially the least and the needy. “Come to me,” he invites, “all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). ‘Come’: this is an exhortation that extends beyond the circle of contemporaries whom Jesus was able to meet during his life and suffering on earth; it is a call to the poor of all times, ever relevant even today, ever renewed on the lips and in the heart of the Church.
5. Alongside this exhortation, there is another: “Learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Mt 11:29). Jesus’ gentleness and humanity become a draw for those called to enter his school: “Learn from me”. Jesus is the ‘faithful witness’ to the love that God has for humankind. In his witness, divine truth and divine love are united. For this reason, there is a profound cohesion—one might almost say homogeneity—between his words and his actions, between what he does and what he teaches. Jesus not only teaches love as the supreme commandment, but fulfils it himself in the most perfect way. He not only proclaims the Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount, but embodies them in himself throughout his life. He not only demands that we love our enemies, but fulfils this himself, above all at the hour of his crucifixion: ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do’ (Lk 23:34).
6. Yet that ‘meekness and humility of heart’ in no way implies weakness. On the contrary, Jesus is demanding. His Gospel is demanding. Is it not he himself who admonishes: ‘Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me’? And shortly afterwards: “Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it” (Mt 10:38–39). It is a kind of radicalism not only in the language of the Gospel, but also in the real demands of following Christ, the full extent of which he does not hesitate to reiterate frequently: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace,” he says one day, “but a sword” (Mt 10:34). It is a powerful way of saying that the Gospel is also a source of “unease” for humankind, Jesus wants us to understand that the Gospel is demanding, and that to be demanding means to stir consciences, not to allow them to settle into a false ‘peace’, in which they become increasingly insensitive and dull-witted, so that spiritual realities are stripped of their value and lose all resonance within them. Jesus will say before Pilate: ‘I have come into the world to bear witness to the truth’ (John 18:37). These words also concern the light he sheds upon the whole realm of human actions, dispelling the darkness of thoughts and especially of consciences, so that truth may triumph in every person. It is, however, a matter of taking the side of truth. “Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice,” Jesus will say (John 18:37). This is why Jesus is demanding. Not harsh or relentlessly severe, but firm and unequivocal in calling everyone to a life in the truth.
7. Thus the demands of Christ’s Gospel penetrate the realm of law and morality. He who is the ‘faithful witness’ (Rev 1:5) to divine truth, to the truth of the Father, says right at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount: ‘Whoever therefore breaks one of these commandments, even the least of them, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the Kingdom of Heaven’ (Mt 5:19). And in exhorting people to conversion, he does not hesitate to rebuke the very towns where people refuse to believe: ‘Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!’ (Lk 10:13), whilst warning each and every one: ‘… unless you repent, you will all perish’ (Lk 13:3).
8. Thus, the Gospel of meekness and humility goes hand in hand with the Gospel of moral demands, and even of severe warnings to those who refuse to repent. There is no contradiction between the two. Jesus lives by the truth he proclaims and the love he reveals, and this is a love as demanding as the truth from which it springs. Moreover, love placed the greatest demands on Jesus himself in the hour of Gethsemane, in the hour of Calvary, in the hour of the cross. Jesus accepted and fulfilled these demands to the very end, for, as the evangelist tells us, he ‘loved them to the very end’ (Jn 13:1). It was a faithful love, by virtue of which, on the day before his death, he could say to the Father: ‘The words you gave me I have given to them’ (Jn 17:8).
9. As a ‘faithful witness’, Jesus fulfilled the mission he had received from the Father in the depths of the Trinitarian mystery. It was an eternal mission, contained within the mind of the Father who begot him and predestined him to fulfil it ‘in the fullness of time’ for the salvation of humankind—of every human being—and for the perfect good of all creation. Jesus was fully aware that his mission lay at the heart of the Father’s plan of creation and redemption; and therefore, with all the realism of the truth and love he brought into the world, he could say: “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself” (Jn 12:32).
[John Paul II, General Audience, 8 June 1988]

This Sunday’s Gospel reading (cf. Mt 11:25-30) is divided into three parts: first of all, Jesus raises a prayer of blessing and thanksgiving to the Father because he revealed the mystery of the Kingdom of Heaven to the poor and to the simple; then he reveals the intimate and unique relationship between himself and the Father; and finally he invites us to go to him and to follow him to find solace.

In the first place, Jesus praises the Father because he has kept the secrets of his Kingdom, of his truth, hidden “from the wise and understanding” (v. 25). He calls them so with a veil of irony because they presume to be wise, understanding, and therefore, very often, have a closed heart. True wisdom also comes from the heart. It is not only a matter of understanding ideas: true wisdom also enters the heart. And if you know many things but have a closed heart, you are not wise. Jesus tells them that his Father’s mysteries are revealed to the “little ones”, to those who confidently open themselves to his Word of salvation, who open their heart to the Word of salvation, who feel the need for him and await everything from him. The heart that is open and trustful towards the Lord.

Then, Jesus explains that he has received everything from the Father, and calls him “my Father”, to affirm the unique nature of his relationship with him. Indeed, only between the Son and the Father is there total reciprocity: each one knows the other, each one lives in the other. But this unique communion is like a flower that blossoms to freely reveal its beauty and its goodness. And here then is Jesus’ invitation: “Come to me…” (v. 28). He wishes to give what he receives from the Father. He wants to give us Truth, and Jesus’ Truth is always free: it is a gift, it is the Holy Spirit, the Truth. 

Just as the Father has a preference for the “little ones”, Jesus also addresses those “who labour and are heavy laden”. Indeed, he places himself among them, because he is “gentle and lowly in heart” (v. 29): this is how he describes himself. It is the same in the first and third Beatitudes, that of the humble and poor in spirit, and that of the meek (cf. Mt 5:35): the meekness of Jesus. In this way Jesus, “meek and humble”, is not a model for the resigned, nor is he simply a victim, but rather he is the Man who lives this condition “from the heart” in full transparency to the love of the Father, that is, to the Holy Spirit. He is the model of the “poor in spirit” and of all the other “blesseds” of the Gospel, who carry out God’s will and bear witness to his Kingdom.

And then, Jesus says that if we go to him, we will find rest. The “rest” that Christ offers to the weary and oppressed is not merely psychological solace or donated charity, but the joy of the poor who are evangelized and are builders of the new humanity: this is solace. Joy. The joy that Jesus gives us. It is unique. It is the joy that he himself has. It is a message for all of us, for all people of good will, which Jesus still conveys today in the world that exalts those who become rich and powerful... But how often do we say, “Ah, I would like to be like him, or like her, who is rich, has a lot of power, lacks nothing…”. The world exalts those who are rich and powerful, no matter by what means, and at times tramples upon the human being and his or her dignity. And we see this every day, the poor trampled underfoot… And it is a message for the Church, called to live works of mercy and to evangelize the poor, to be meek and humble. This is how the Lord wants his Church, that is, us, to be.

May, the humblest and highest of creatures, implore from God wisdom of heart for us, so that we may discern his signs in our lives and be participants in those mysteries which, hidden from the proud, are revealed to the humble.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 5 July 2020]

New Wineskins and vocational Freedom

(Mt 9:14-17)

Fasting is a regenerative principle that has a unique healing power, both detoxifying and essential. It activates the energies of humanity and at the same time of diversity.

This silent practice addresses the deep layers, the internal dimension, which becomes the guide and we risk ignoring.

Fasting was a sign of profound religiosity, therefore the disciples of Jesus - who did not fast, on the contrary their life had a festive character - were more or less assimilated to sinners.

Although there were no formal prescriptions, in observant circles it was pious practices that had become customary [linked to precisely marked days].

In Semitic beliefs, fasting was in particular expressive of the embarrassment and affliction of the devout man in the expectation of the Messianic times, which were delaying.

This is why Jesus associates fasting with mourning. It no longer has meaning in life as the unhindered wedding feast that He inaugurates.

Fasting remains as a sign of waiting for fulfillment, but now sadness no longer has any decisive relevance.

In the time of the Church that makes the Risen present, the renunciation of gorging is not a form of penance but of Hope (v.15).

And it serves to keep the hearts of Bridegroom’s friends clear of vanities, with a form of identification with the poor.

In the communities of Galilee and Syria to which Mt addresses, the Judaizers tried to reduce the pure Faith - foundation and enthusiastic participation - to whatever beliefs and practices.

Provisions that did not make everyone feel free.

In fact, a large part of the Jews converted to Christ were inclined to nostalgia that resulted in impediment.

Mt encourages the converts of his fraternities, coming from mixed and non-regular beliefs - coping the opinion of the stricter religious traditions.

Even today the Lord's proposal stands out - because it does not claim to prepare the Kingdom, but rather welcomes and listens to it.

It will be Christ-in-us alone to nourish us towards an uninterrupted and growing way, in the commitment to start afresh in the task of finding ourselves and emancipating the world - in a climate of austerity, balanced.

The Call of the Gospels remains respectful, concrete and strongly prophetic at the same time, because it arouses attention to people, to reality, and our joy - much more than to unsolicited standards of improvement, or other patches (v.16).

By not overwhelming or imposing artificial loads on believers, the life of Faith brings freedom into play [and thus makes it known to us] so that we become aware and assume it in order to be able to invest as Grace, charge and resource of novelty.

The renouncing and mortifying mechanisms, of individualistic perfection, are alien from the start - unless they are designed for the sharing of goods.

Jesus does not come to make a small group of followers seated on the chair of austerity, but to communicate that the relationship with God is a celebration.

Fasting pleasing to the Father lies in the lucid experience of one's own unrepeatable eccentricity and Call, in freeing oneself from the selfishness that holds back, and in bringing relief to one's neighbor.

For this reason the Church has almost completely abolished the precept of external fasting, while it intends to commit more to forms of limitation in favor of the uncertain, humble and needy.

To internalize and live the message:

Do you practice fasting? From what? And for what purpose?

[Saturday 13th wk. in O.T.  July 4, 2026]

Fasting: Opening

(Mt 9:14-17)

Fasting has travelled through all religious and mystical traditions, because it is intended to bring women and men closer to their own profound essence - to listening to themselves, to the codes of the sacred, to their inner cosmos, to their vocation, to the sacred pages - in the expectation of transformation.

One entrusts oneself to a different wisdom - less noisy - that can activate processes of metamorphosis, precisely by making a void from the intrusions of homologated thought, from external habits or conformisms that tend to overwhelm the personality.

By detaching, the torments will vanish, replaced by other interests and lucid dreams; aroused by the new breakthrough to our eternal side, and by that reliance on the core of being that is still creating us.

Psycho-physical and supernatural unity is a prodigious organism, which can clear away the fog and enhance its capacities with various forms of suspension and cleansing, even mental cleansing - which will take us where we need to go.

But in the specifics of the children of God, all this is aimed at sharpening the gaze in the sense of knowledge, discovery, surprise of unsuspected singular and missionary capacities and qualities. Those that flow from the discovery of the eminent Self, from one's own founding Relationship - to become uniqueness of exceptional relationship with others, in the Exodus that corresponds to us.

Fasting is a principle of regeneration that has a unique healing power, both detoxifying and essential. It activates the energies of one's humanity and at the same time one's diversity.

This silent practice addresses the deep layers, the inner dimension, which become the guide (and we risk ignoring).

But here, understanding dissimilarities remains indispensable. For us, it is a gesture of openness!

Other kinds of diets or athleticism are not infrequently deviant: their very nonsense brings sadness and even depression.

Fasting remains a sign of waiting for the fulfilment, but now the sadness is meaningless.

In the time of the Church that makes the Risen One present, the renunciation of gorging is not a form of penitence but of hope (v.20).

And it serves to keep the heart of the Bridegroom's friends clear of vanities, with a form of identification with the poor.

But Jesus does not come to make himself a group of followers sitting on the chair of austerity, but to communicate that the relationship with God is a feast!

In short, fasting pleasing to the Father lies in the lucid experience of one's own unique eccentricity and calling, in freeing oneself from the selfishness of grabbing for oneself, and bringing relief to one's neighbour.

It creates life, not diminishes it.

Fasting was a sign of deep religiosity, so Jesus' disciples - who did not fast, indeed their existence had a festive character - were likened more or less to sinners.

Although there were no formal prescriptions, these were pious practices that became customary in observant circles [here seriousness was everything] linked to precisely marked days.

In Semitic beliefs, fasting was in particular expressive of the devout man's embarrassment and affliction in the quivering expectation of the messianic times, which were delayed.

This is why Jesus associates fasting with mourning - which no longer has any meaning in life as the wedding feast without qualms that He inaugurates.

Where precisely there is no need for additions, no need for checks or imprints, marks or distinguishing characteristics.

Nor is the New Covenant a modernisation of moral practices or pious prescriptions that provide an external religious pass.

Everything is in relation to the real presence of the Bridegroom, who does not punish life.

Of course, he who proceeds on the path of emancipation and is not satisfied with a partial Jesus the Bridegroom, already knows in himself what awaits him...

Then (v.15) in the strident confrontation with the religious leaders - clinging to prestige - there is sadness and humiliation to no end. So much for fasting from food.

However, whoever has decided to continue his journey of vocational freedom knows that he must relive the same events of blatant conflict that pitted the Master against the mentality and authorities of his time; finally, in this real encounter with Him, experience the total gift of life (v.15).

It will only be the Christ-in-us, even if it is centred and not definitive, that will nourish soul and body in an uninterrupted and growing way.

This with the commitment to start again in the mission of finding ourselves and giving breath to the world.

In an atmosphere of quiet austerity; without artificial brakes.

In the communities of Judaizing extraction addressed by Mt, there was a strong need to free the Risen One from fetters [disciplinary fixations, timetables, calendar].

The believers perceived Him to be alive - accomplice to the new humanising character they experienced day by day.

The evangelist wanted to direct his assemblies in Galilee and Syria [perhaps in the mid-1970s] not to cling to false securities.They had to take a completely alternative position and not end up like the 'fathers' or the groups around them, of ancient and sectarian religious extraction.

But even the Judaizers tried to reduce pure Faith - foundation and enthusiastic participation - to rigid beliefs and any number of practices.

Vicious circles that ended up transmitting old feelings of guilt instead of unusual relational insights.

Indeed, most Jewish converts tended towards nostalgias that were a hindrance and hindrance.

It was precisely such veterans who struggled to embrace the new habitus of freedom, and the full froth of the Gospel, in an enthusiastic manner.

Even today, the Lord's Proposal stands out from all exclusivist doctrines, full of prescriptions and fulfilments.

His Presence shines through in spirit. And his intimates do not pretend to prepare the Kingdom, but welcome it and listen to it - with trust in life.

This is what happens in the time of crisis, which is disposing to a less outward, more global fasting - considerable but wise.

A fast that can lead humanity to sensitive perception, to a sense of communion, to silence and embrace; to less egocentric and dirigiste impetus. To a deepening - and wholeness.

The Tao Tê Ching (v) writes: "The space between Heaven and Earth, how it resembles a bellows!".

Master Wang Pi comments: 'If the bellows had a will of its own in blowing, it could not implement the intent of the one who makes it blow'.

And Master Ho-shang Kung adds: "Many endeavours harm the spirit".

In short, Christ treasures natural wisdom and does not reduce us to the measure of any religion: he does not confine believers to 'negotiations' through petty procedures of athleticism and individual perfection.

He does not insist on heroic mortifications, extraordinary renunciations, punctilious observance of sterile - one-sided - laws, unless they are conceived in order to find each other, to humanise, to share goods.

The Call of the Gospels remains at once balanced, concrete and strongly prophetic.

A call that arouses attention to people, to reality, to our joy - far more than unsolicited aseptic polishing standards or other patches (v.16).

By neither overpowering nor imposing artificial burdens on believers, the life of Faith brings self-determination into play.

Thus it makes it known to us - so that we become aware of it and take it on in order to be able to invest it as Grace, charge (not diminish): a resource of newness.

The ascetic mechanisms of individualist refinement are alien from the outset: the goal is to create family, not to carve out a circle of hard and pure men all external and proud of themselves, who distance themselves from weaker brothers and sisters.

Then, self-satisfied, they become disloyal, usurpers, schemers: a history of flaws, equivocal plots and pastoral delays, behind an impeccable façade of cerebral doctrines, disciplines (in their own way) and resounding commemorations over the body of the 'poor departed'.

This is why the Church has almost completely abolished the precept of outward fasting, while it intends to make a greater commitment to forms of restraint in favour of the sick, marginalised, humble and needy.

The choice wants to remain clear: freedom is priceless.

And there is no love if someone - even God - cuts off or overpowers the other, imposing artificial yokes, too much the same as always; unbearable, extravagant, unhealthy.

So the old containers are no longer to be matched with the new ferment. The practice of patching damages both custom and the Newness of God.

Certainly, old wine and cassocks have a fascination for the senses and the vintage epidermal imagination....

That is why they continue to appeal [Lk 5:39: "The old man is excellent!"]. Not a few want to combine him with the Lord (Mt 9:17; Mk 2:22; Lk 5:37-38).

The Master was not for himself an opponent of the spirit of old, but he fought against its unshakable shells. Even then, they were empty shells, which in fact prevented the manifestation of an unseen Face of the Eternal Living One, and of a more genuine idea of a successful man - the germ of an alternative, fraternal society.

Realities well separated from the intimist or self-referential ones typical of official or do-it-yourself cults. All innovations that had to manifest themselves. 

The taste and aftertaste of old wine cloaked devotional rites and seasoned customs with artfulness, levity and evocative charm, but they stayed there and did not scratch life.

They remembered, but they did not memorialise - that is, they did not re-actualise for the little people.

In the practice of the many cults, in its feats of catechesis without pastoral nerve, even today in the provinces we notice [for decades] a mechanical pre-conciliar regurgitation, which stops at the great icons.

Wonders and memories of Salvation History... that's it.

It seemed easier to local leaders to go back to customs and abbreviated catechisms than to face the educational risk that the Magisterium itself would impose.The immediate result was deemed palatable and profitable, for the fundamentalist or glamorous [underneath] sector, and astute - willingly supplanting the unknown effervescence of new wine.

In fact, on the part of those who know 'how to be in the world', one still has to endure a whole superficiality of retreats and habitual accommodations, which redeem no one and bring no joy, because they do not enter into personal human affairs.

Then settling for the fish menu on Fridays. Genuine superfluity.

But those who stop at the past of mortifications and papier-mâché can never understand the Reformation that the Spirit proposes to edify every soul in authentic fulfilment, which makes us better hold one another.

Thus, in the coexistence and conviviality of differences, the old containers must no longer be coupled with the new ferment.

The practice of patching can, on the one hand, damage customs, because they have their own refined and pronounced taste (relevant in itself) - on the other hand, it distracts and dampens the life of change, in the Exodus that does not extinguish us.

In short, the Lord does not envisage for us a practice of mending and enclosing boundaries: rather, he wants to break cages.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you care about fasting? From what? And for what purpose? Does it break the cages? Is it or is it not in order to know each other, find each other, and listen, heal, share, embrace, hold each other better?

What inner conflicts do you experience around religious practices that you feel still bring suffering to people and are not a spousal expression or a reason for emancipation for women and men?

What image of God and believing humanity is subject to preconceptions and prohibitions? How do you demonstrate the primacy of Jesus in every area of life?

While Jesus was at table in the house of Levi, the publican, the Pharisees and John the Baptist's disciples asked why Jesus' disciples were not fasting as they were. Jesus answered that wedding guests cannot fast while the bridegroom is with them and that they will fast when the bridegroom is taken away from them (cf. Mk 2: 18, 20).

With these words, Christ reveals his identity of Messiah, Israel's bridegroom, who came for the betrothal with his people. Those who recognize and welcome him are celebrating. However, he will have to be rejected and killed precisely by his own; at that moment, during his Passion and death, the hour of mourning and fasting will come.

As I mentioned, the Gospel episode anticipates the meaning of Lent. As a whole, it constitutes a great memorial of the Lord's Passion in preparation for his Paschal Resurrection. During this season, we abstain from singing the "Alleluia" and we are asked to make appropriate penitential sacrifices.
The season of Lent should not be faced with an "old" spirit, as if it were a heavy and tedious obligation, but with the new spirit of those who have found the meaning of life in Jesus and in his Paschal Mystery and realize that henceforth everything must refer to him.

This was the attitude of the Apostle Paul who affirmed that he had left everything behind in order to know Christ and "the power of his resurrection, and [to] share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that if possible [he might] attain the resurrection from the dead" (Phil 3: 10-11).

May our guide and teacher in our Lenten journey be Mary Most Holy, who followed Jesus with total faith when he set out with determination for Jerusalem, to suffer the Passion. She received like a "fresh skin" the "new wine" brought by the Son for the messianic betrothal (cf. Mk 2: 22). And so it was that the grace she requested with a motherly instinct for the spouses at Cana, she herself had first received beneath the Cross, poured out from the pierced Heart of the Son, an incarnation of God's love for humanity (cf. Deus Caritas Est, nn. 13-15).

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 26 February 2006]

1. "Sanctify a fast!" (Joel 1:14). They are the words that we listened to in the first reading on Ash Wednesday. They were written by the Prophet Joel, and the Church establishes the practice of Lent in conformity with them, ordering fasting. Today the practice of Lent, defined by Paul VI in the Constitution "Poenitemini ", is considerably reduced as compared with practices of the past. In this matter the Pope left a great deal to the decision of the Episcopal Conferences of the individual countries. They, therefore, have the task of adapting the requirements of fasting according to the circumstances that prevail in their respective societies. He also recalled that the essence of Lenten repentance consists not only of fasting, but also of prayer and almsdeeds (works of mercy). So it is necessary to decide according to circumstances, since fasting itself can be "replaced" by works of mercy and prayer. The aim of this particular period in the life of the Church is always and everywhere repentance, that is, conversion to God. Repentance, in fact, understood as conversion, that is "metanoia", forms a whole, which the tradition of the People of God already in the old Covenant and then Christ himself linked, in a certain way, with prayer, almsdeeds and fasting.

Why fasting?

At this moment there perhaps come into our minds the words with which Jesus answered the disciples of John the Baptist when they asked him: "Why do your disciples not fast?" Jesus answered: "Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them? The days will come, when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast" (Mt 9:15). In fact the time of Lent reminds us that the bridegroom has been taken away from us. Taken away, arrested, imprisoned, slapped, scourged, crowned with thorns, crucified... Fasting in the time of Lent is the expression of our solidarity with Christ. Such was the meaning of Lent throughout the centuries and such it remains today.

"My love has been crucified and there is no longer in me the flame that desires material things", as the Bishop of Antioch, Ignatius, writes in the letter to the Romans (Ign. Antioch,. Ad Romanos VII, 2).

2. Why fasting?

It is necessary to give this question a wider and deeper answer, in order to clarify the relationship between fasting and "metanoia", that is, that spiritual change which brings man closer to God. We will try therefore to concentrate not only on the practice of abstention from food or from drink

— that, in fact, is the meaning of "fasting" in the common sense — but on the deeper meaning of this practice which, moreover, can and must sometimes be "replaced" by another one. Food and drink are indispensable for man to live, he uses them and must use them, but he may not abuse them in any way. The traditional abstention from food and drink has as its purpose to introduce into man's existence not only the necessary balance, but also detachment from what might be defined a "consumer attitude". In our times this attitude has become one of the characteristics of civilization and in particular of Western civilization. The consumer attitude!

Man geared to material goods, multiple material goods, very often abuses them. It is not a question here lust of food and drink. When man is geared exclusively to possession and use of material goods

— that is, of things — then also the whole civilization is measured according to the quantity and the quality of the things with which it is in a position to supply man, and is not measured with the yardstick suitable for man. This civilization, in fact, supplies material goods not just in order that they may serve man to carry out creative and useful activities, but more and more... to satisfy the senses, the excitement he derives from them, momentary pleasure, an ever greater multiplicity of sensations.

We sometimes hear it said that the excessive increase of audiovisual media in the rich countries is not always useful for the development of intelligence, particularly in children; on the contrary, it sometimes contributes to checking its development. The child lives only on sensations, he looks for ever-new sensations... And thus he becomes, without realizing it, a slave of this modern passion. Satiating himself with sensations, he often remains passive intellectually; the intellect does not open to search of truth; the will remains bound by habit which it is unable to oppose.

It is seen from this that modern man must fast, that is, abstain not only from food or drink, but from many other means of consumption, stimulation, satisfaction of the senses. To fast means to abstain, to renounce something.

3. Why renounce something? Why deprive oneself of it? We have already partly answered this question. However the answer will not be complete, if we do not realize that man is himself also because he succeeds in depriving himself of something, because he is capable of saying "no" to himself. Man is a being composed of body and soul. Some modern writers present this composite structure of man in the form of layers, and they speak, for example, of exterior layers on the surface of our personality, contrasting them with the layers in depth. Our life seems to be divided into such layers and takes place through them. While the superficial layers are bound up with our sensuality, the deep layers are an expression, on the contrary, of man's spirituality, that is, of conscious will, reflection, conscience, the capacity of living superior values.

This image of the structure of the human personality can serve to understand the meaning of fasting for man. It is not a question here only of the religious meaning, but of a meaning that is expressed through the so-called "organization" of man as a subject-person. Man develops regularly when the deeper layers of his personality find sufficient expression, when the sphere of his interests and aspirations is not limited just to the exterior and superficial layers, connected with human sensuality. To facilitate such a development, we must sometimes deliberately detach ourselves from what serves to satisfy sensuality, that is, from those exterior, superficial layers. Therefore we must renounce every thing that "nourishes" them.

This, in short, is the interpretation of fasting nowadays.

Renunciation of sensations, stimuli, pleasures and even food or drink, is not an end in itself. It must only, so to speak, prepare the way for deeper contents by which the interior man "is nourished". This renunciation, this mortification must serve to create in man the conditions to be able to live the superior values, for which he, in his own way, hungers.

This is the "full" meaning of fasting in the language of today. However, when we read the Christian authors of antiquity or the Fathers of the Church, we find in them the same truth, often expressed in a surprisingly "modern" language. St Peter Chrysologus, for example, says.. "Fasting is peace of the body, strength of minds, vigour of souls" (Sermo VII: de jejunio 3); and again: "Fasting is the helm of human life and governs the whole ship of our body." (Sermo VII: de jejunio 1.)

And St Ambrose replies as follows to possible objections to fasting: "The flesh, because of its mortal condition, has some specific lusts: With regard to them you are granted the right to curb them. Your flesh is under you...: do not follow the promptings of the flesh to unlawful things, but curb them somewhat even as regards lawful ones. In fact he who does not abstain from any of the lawful things, is also very close to unlawful things." (Sermo de utilitate jejunii III.V.VII). Also writers not belonging to Christianity declare the same truth. This truth is of universal significance. It is part of the universal wisdom of life.

4. It is now certainly easier for us to understand why Christ the Lord and the Church unite the call to fasting with repentance, that is, with conversion. To be converted to God, it is necessary to discover in ourselves that which makes us sensitive to what belongs to God; therefore, the spiritual contents, the superior values which speak to our intellect, to our conscience, to our "heart" (according to biblical language). To open up to these spiritual contents, to these values, it is necessary to detach oneself from what serves only the consumer spirit, satisfaction of the senses. In the opening of our human personality to God, fasting

— understood both in the "traditional" way and in the "modern" way — must go hand in hand with prayer because it is addressed directly to him.

Furthermore, fasting, that is, the mortification of the senses, mastery of the  body, confer on prayer a greater efficacy, which man discovers in himself. He discovers, in fact, that he is "different", that he is more "master of himself", that he has become interiorly free. And he realizes this in as much as conversion and the meeting with God, through prayer, bear fruit in him.

It is clear from these our reflections today that fasting is not only a "vestige" of a religious practice of past centuries, but that it is also indispensable for the man of today, for Christians of our time.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 21 March 1979]

The "ghost of hypocrisy" makes us forget how to caress a sick person, a child or an elderly person. And it does not make us look into the eyes of the person to whom we hastily give alms, immediately withdrawing our hand so as not to soil ourselves. It is a warning to "never be ashamed" of "our brother's flesh" that Pope Francis addressed during the mass celebrated on the morning of 7 March in the chapel of the Casa Santa Marta.

On the Friday after Ash Wednesday, the Church, the Pontiff explained, proposes a meditation on the true meaning of fasting. And it does so through two incisive readings, taken from the book of the prophet Isaiah (58:1-9a) and the Gospel of Matthew (9:14-15). "Behind today's readings," said the Pontiff, "there is the ghost of hypocrisy, of formality in fulfilling the commandments, in this case fasting". So "Jesus returns to the theme of hypocrisy many times when he sees that the doctors of the law think they are perfect: they fulfil everything in the commandments as if it were a formality".

And here, the Pope warned, there is "a problem of memory", which concerns "this double face in going on the road of life". The hypocrites in fact 'have forgotten that they were elected by God in a people, not by themselves. They have forgotten the history of their people, that history of salvation, of election, of covenant, of promise' that comes directly from the Lord.

And in so doing, he continued, 'they have reduced this history to an ethic. Religious life for them was an ethic'. Thus "it is explained that at the time of Jesus, theologians say, there were three hundred commandments more or less" to be observed. But 'receiving from the Lord the love of a father, receiving from the Lord the identity of a people and then turning it into an ethic' means 'rejecting that gift of love'. After all, he pointed out, hypocrites 'are good people, they do whatever has to be done, they look good'. But "they are ethicists, ethicists without goodness, because they have lost their sense of belonging to a people".

"Salvation," the Pontiff explained, "the Lord gives it within a people, in belonging to a people". And "this is how one understands how the prophet Isaiah speaks to us today about fasting, about penance: what is the fast that the Lord wants? The fast that has a relationship with the people, the people to which we belong: our people, in which we are called, in which we are inserted".

Pope Francis reread, in particular, this passage from the book of Isaiah: "Is not this rather the fasting that I want: to loosen iniquitous chains, to remove the bonds of the yoke, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to break every yoke? Is it not to divide bread with the hungry, to bring in the wretched, the homeless, to clothe one whom you see naked, and not to neglect your kinsmen?"

Here, then, is the meaning of true "fasting that," reiterated the Bishop of Rome, "is concerned with the life of one's brother, that is not ashamed of the flesh of one's brother, as Isaiah himself says". In fact, 'our perfection, our holiness goes on with our people, in whom we are elected and inserted'. And 'our greatest act of holiness is precisely in the flesh of our brother and in the flesh of Jesus Christ'.

Thus, he emphasised, even 'today's act of holiness - we here at the altar - is not hypocritical fasting. It is not being ashamed of the flesh of Christ that comes here today: it is the mystery of the body and blood of Christ. It is going to share bread with the hungry, to care for the sick, the elderly, those who cannot give us anything in return: that is not being ashamed of the flesh".

"God's salvation," the Pontiff reiterated, "is in a people. A people that goes forward, a people of brothers who are not ashamed of one another'. But this, he warned, 'is the most difficult fast: the fast of goodness. Goodness leads us to this'. And 'perhaps,' he explained, quoting the Gospel, 'the priest who passed by that wounded man thought' referring to the commandments of the time: 'But if I touch that blood, that wounded flesh, I remain unclean and cannot keep the Sabbath! And he was ashamed of that man's flesh. This is hypocrisy!" Instead, the Holy Father noted, 'that sinner passed by and saw him: he saw the flesh of his brother, the flesh of a man of his people, a son of God like himself. And he was not ashamed'.

"The proposal of the Church today" therefore suggests a real examination of conscience through a series of questions that the Pope posed to those present: "Am I ashamed of the flesh of my brother, of my sister? When I give alms, do I drop the coin without touching the hand? And if by chance I touch it, do I do so immediately?" he asked, mimicking the gesture of someone wiping his hand. And again: 'When I give alms, do I look into the eyes of my brother, my sister? When I know that someone is ill, do I go to see them? Do I greet them with tenderness?"

To complete this examination of conscience, the Pope pointed out, "there is a sign that will perhaps help us". It is "a question: do I know how to caress the sick, the elderly, the children? Or have I lost the sense of caressing?" The hypocrites, he continued, no longer know how to caress, they have forgotten how. Here then is the recommendation to 'not be ashamed of our brother's flesh: it is our flesh'. And "we will be judged", the Pontiff concluded, precisely on our behaviour towards "this brother, this sister" and certainly not "on hypocritical fasting".

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 08/03/2014]

13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [28 June 2026]

First Reading from the Second Book of Kings (4:8–11, 14–16a)

Here is a brief overview of this Sunday’s biblical readings, beginning with this story of a beautiful human friendship. In Shunem, a village in the Northern Kingdom around 850 BC, Elisha, at the start of his ministry, forms a strong and lasting friendship with a wealthy family. The biblical authors do not recount this story merely as an anecdote: they have a theological purpose and show that the covenant between Elisha and the Shunammites is a reflection of the Covenant between God and Israel. This story unfolds in four acts: 1. The promise of a son: Elisha announces to the barren woman: ‘Next year, at this very time, you will be holding a son in your arms.’ She does not believe him and replies: ‘No, my lord, man of God, do not lie to your servant.’ Like Sarah at Mamre, she doubts. But the following year the child is born. 2. The resurrection: Years later, the child dies in the fields, struck down by heatstroke. Without losing faith, the mother lays the body on Elisha’s bed, in the room on the terrace, and runs to find him. She reminds him: ‘I had not asked you for anything; do not take this son from me.’ Elisha prays and raises the child from the dead. 3. The warning of famine: True to this friendship, Elisha warns the Shunammite woman of seven years of famine and advises her to leave for the land of the Philistines. She obeys and goes into exile. 4. The restoration of her property. On her return, her house and fields had been confiscated by the king’s officials. Elisha intervenes once more and restores her lands to her. But what theological lesson does this text offer us? This friendship illustrates five aspects of the Covenant between God and Israel: 1. A permanent covenant and faithfulness: God remains faithful even in the face of unbelief.  2. Constant care: Just as Elisha did for his hostess, God watches over his people without ceasing.  3. God dwells with us: Elisha accepts the room on the terrace: God wishes to dwell amongst his people, as in Solomon’s Temple.  4. God restores: Elisha restores the land; God promises to restore the land to Israel – a key message written during the Babylonian Exile.  5. God is the God of life: A promise of the child’s birth and resurrection, for God gives life. The Shunammite woman becomes a model of faith for us: she welcomes the prophet ‘as a prophet’, as Jesus will say in the Gospel of Matthew (10:41). Her trust is complete: she dares to tell God her needs and even her anger. She recognises Elisha as a ‘holy man of God’. Here is a practical application: God dwells in the heart of every person, and it is important to recognise this. 

Responsorial Psalm (88/89)

Here is a clear message: we must never doubt. The first reading recounts the long friendship between a family from Shunem and the prophet Elisha, the ‘man of God’. Through this human relationship, we reflect on the eternal Covenant between God and his people, and with all humanity. Psalm 88/89, which is proclaimed today, seems to be a song written in the midst of trial.  Although the few verses of the responsorial psalm seem full of joy, the complete psalm, comprising no fewer than 53 verses, was probably composed during the Babylonian Exile. It is a synthesis of the entire history of Israel: the beginning of the Covenant, the promises to David, the expectation of the Messiah… and then the collapse: no more kings in Jerusalem, no heir, and therefore no Messiah. Hence the anguished question in verse 50: ‘Where, O Lord, is your first love, the one you swore to David concerning your faithfulness?’. What is asserted with such force is, in reality, what one fears to have lost. The psalm is, moreover, the last in the third book of the Psalms and concludes with: ‘Blessed be the Lord for ever! Amen! Amen!’. It therefore has the character of a conclusion. On closer inspection, this psalm presents itself as a skilful composition. The first stanza is very carefully crafted, with parallel structures: I will sing of the Lord’s love without end; I will proclaim your faithfulness from age to age. Love/faithfulness, song/proclamation, without end/from age to age, established/stable, for ever/the heavens: a marvellous parallelism between time and space that invites us to cherish the singing of the Psalms.  The heart of the message is Love and faithfulness. In the complete psalm, the pairing ‘love and faithfulness’ occurs seven times, a symbolic number. It is the translation of the revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai: ‘A God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness’ (Ex 34:6) .   In Hebrew, ‘love’—that is, ‘God’s acts of love’—indicates that God does not love merely in words, but ‘in deed and in truth’, as St John will say in the New Testament.  It is precisely during the exile that Israel remembers, more than ever, ‘God’s acts of love’ so as not to fall into the temptation of thinking that God has forgotten them. In short, the psalm presents a group of believers composing hymns to commemorate the faithfulness of God, who has never ceased to be the King of Israel. The phrase “for the Lord is our shield, our King, the Holy One of Israel” is sung precisely at a time when there is no longer a human king. And it is interesting that the psalm uses royal and martial vocabulary: ‘shout of triumph/terouah, power, strength, vigour, shield’ – because the king led the army. These are victorious expressions spoken in a time of defeat. And the psalm concludes by recalling the insults suffered by the Messiah: ‘ Remember, Lord, your servants who have been humiliated… your enemies have humiliated, Lord, your Messiah”.   Moral: it is precisely in the night, in the darkness of exile and trial, that we must believe in the light and in the reaffirmation of God’s promises.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (6:3… 11)

St Paul points to a new way of life and responds to the objection  of those who reproach him, saying that by placing too much emphasis on the free gift of salvation, he is encouraging sin. He retorts: grace does not render sin irrelevant, but it no longer has power over the believer because, from Baptism, the believer is a ‘new creation’: ‘If anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation’ (2 Cor 5:17). Paul explains the meaning of the key word ‘death’, which is not biological, and uses this word in a theological sense: all of us who have been baptised into Christ Jesus have been baptised into his death… we have therefore died to sin, and now we live for God in Christ Jesus. It is a radical break with the past, one that no longer fears physical death. Paul speaks from experience: on the road to Damascus, he ‘died’ to the old self, to his former way of seeing, acting and believing. The ‘baptism’ of Israel thus serves as a key for Paul to explain Christian Baptism, as he clearly recalls in his First Letter to the Corinthians (cf. 1 Cor 10:1–2) . Israel, ‘baptised’ by Moses in the cloud and the sea during the crossing of the Red Sea, experienced the death of Egyptian slavery: forced labour, massacres, the Pharaoh’s bad faith – and thus a clean break with the machinery of oppression.  In this way, Christ brings about the decisive break: the person enslaved by sin, by doubts, by violence, is set free. Jesus, ‘obedient unto death, even death on a cross’ (Phil 2:8), breaks the vicious circle. His death is a triumph: ‘dead to sin once and for all, alive to God’. To live in the manner of Christ is therefore ‘to die to sin’—that is, to die to the old way of life: hatred, violence, the thirst for power and money—in order to ‘live for and in God’, that is, to choose Christ as the one Lord and to enter into a new life made up of love and service to one’s brothers and sisters. Baptism marks the beginning of this radical change: it is true liberation. Paul says to the baptised: “Consider yourselves dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus”. The gift has already been granted, but it remains to be put into practice every day. And here lies the challenge that arises from it: whilst entering into salvation is simple—for it is enough simply to believe—living it out becomes extremely demanding, as it requires us to model our daily lives on the Spirit of Christ. He repeats this in his letter to the Ephesians: ‘Put off the old self… be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, created according to God in righteousness and true holiness’ (Eph 4:22–24). There is but one secret: to keep our eyes fixed on the cross of Christ. Only his obedience and gentleness break the chain of violence. As Jesus says: ‘Abide in me, and I in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, neither can you unless you remain in me’ (Jn 15:4).

From the Gospel according to Matthew (10:37–42)

This text helps us to learn how to accept the necessary sacrifices. At first glance, Matthew 10:37–42 seems like a list of unrelated maxims. In reality, it is a single invitation: these are the detachments required by fidelity to the Gospel. After the Sermon on the Mount on love, Jesus speaks here of other demands. We must learn to love God in times of persecution of the Church: ‘Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me’. Loving God does not mean ceasing to love one’s family, even though he had warned shortly before: ‘Brother will turn against brother and father against son, and children will rise up against their parents and put them to death’ (cf. Mt 10:21). ‘I have not come to bring peace, but a sword… I will set a man against his father’ (Mt 10:34–35; cf. Micah 7:6). How can this be explained?  Every persecution gives rise to personal tragedies because one is forced to choose between faithfulness and death. Even without violence, it is within the family and amongst friends that bearing witness is most difficult and can lead to heart-wrenching conflict. To learn to love is therefore to take up one’s cross: “Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds their life will lose it; whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.”  For Jesus and his listeners, crucifixion was a humiliating form of mass execution carried out along Roman roads, as it exposed the condemned to horror, disgrace and derision. In Deuteronomy we read that the crucified person is ‘cursed by God’ (Deut 21:22–23). And in Psalm 21/22, Jesus proclaims: ‘I am a worm and not a man, scorned by men, rejected by the people’, although the interpretation of this passage helps us to better understand what Jesus meant (in the footnote, I have taken the liberty of including a text I came across). Jesus knows that he and his disciples will be persecuted, despised and humiliated. “A servant is not greater than his master. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you” (John 15:20). “Taking up the cross” means accepting being marginalised, losing one’s reputation for the sake of faithfulness to Christ. Finally, here is the only reward that answers all our objections: “ Whoever welcomes you welcomes me; whoever welcomes me welcomes the One who sent me… Whoever welcomes a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; whoever welcomes a righteous person because he is righteous will receive a righteous person’s reward. And whoever gives even a single glass of cool water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple will not lose his reward”.  It sounds like a ‘give-and-take’, but it is not. We are not in the realm of ‘having’, but of ‘being’. God does not give quantities of goods, but eternal life: life in his very presence. All the saints bear witness to a quality of happiness, not a quantity.  Jesus himself promises: “ ‘Whoever has left houses, brothers, sisters, father, mother, children or fields for my sake will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life’ (Mt 19:29).  Paul lived this out: ‘Whatever gains I once had, I have come to regard as a loss for the sake of Christ… so that I may know Christ, share in his sufferings, and become like him in his death’ (Phil 3:7–10). ‘Being seized by Christ’ is what is at stake. If one seeks a common thread running through this text, it can easily be found in the link between all these phrases, precisely in this verb; ‘being seized by Christ’ as an inner fire that makes possible all acts of renunciation out of fidelity to the Gospel: renunciation of affection, of esteem, of possessions, of life itself. The Beatitudes resound powerfully within our hearts: ‘Blessed are you when they revile you… Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great! ” (Mt 5:11–12).

Note: Jesus, the “worm” on the cross. On the cross, JESUS COMPARED HIMSELF TO AN INSECT TO REVEAL THE SECRET OF HIS DEATH. THIS IS THE MYSTERY OF PSALM 22… As he was dying on the cross, Jesus recited Psalm 22. It is the quintessential prophetic psalm of the crucifixion. But in verse 6 there is a humiliating and bewildering phrase: ‘Yet I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people’ . Why does the King of the universe, at the most glorious moment of redemption, describe himself as a ‘worm’?  Middle Eastern zoology reveals one of nature’s most moving portraits of love. The TOLA’ATH SHANI תּוֹלַעַת שָׁנִי, the Hebrew word used by David, is not the common term for ‘earthworm’. He used Tola’ath Shani, meaning ‘crimson worm’, from which a red dye was extracted. When the female of this crimson worm is ready to give birth, she performs an instinctive and radical act: she seeks out a tree trunk and attaches herself to it forever. It clings to it with such force that, if anyone tries to pry it loose, its body is torn apart.  There, still attached to the wood, it gives birth to its young. To protect them from predators, the mother secretes a crimson-red fluid that covers her entire body, stains the wood red and completely envelops her young. In this act of giving life and protection, the mother dies.  

Here is the extraordinary phenomenon: three days later, the mother’s lifeless body, still attached to the tree, loses its red colour, turns as white as snow and falls gently to the ground (Isaiah 1:18). JESUS NAILED HIMSELF TO THE TREE TO GIVE YOU LIFE: Jesus was not using a metaphor of humiliation, but was proclaiming his mission, and this is a message for us.  Jesus was saying to you from the cross: ‘I am the Tola’ath Shani’. He chose to go to the tree of his own free will. He allowed himself to be nailed to the cross, knowing that if he had come down from it, his ‘children’ – us – would have died at the hands of the predator. He shed his crimson fluid – his blood – to cover you, protect you and give you life, by offering up his own.  When you feel worthless, when you think that nobody cares about you or that the enemy will devour you, look at the wood of the cross. You have a Saviour who chose to die nailed to a tree rather than lose you. His blood has covered you entirely and, three days later, He rose again to make you as white as snow. You are the fruit of His perfect sacrifice!

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul  [29 June 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (12:1–11)

The central theme of this text is: ‘God always delivers for the sake of the mission’. At that time, the young Church was under pressure, and the miracle of Peter’s deliverance must not make us forget the atmosphere of the early Church. Jesus died around AD 30, and at the beginning the disciples were few in number and harmless. The problems began with ‘too spectacular’ healings, which led to Peter being imprisoned twice by the religious authorities: the first time alongside John, involving a trial and threats, whilst the second time alongside other apostles, who were freed at night by an angel: ‘Go, stand in the Temple and proclaim to the people all these words of life’ (Acts 5:17–20).  Then came the execution of Stephen and the persecution that drove the ‘Hellenists’ to flee from Jerusalem towards Samaria and the coast. James, Peter and John remained. In the episode in Acts 12, it is the political authorities who take action. We are under Herod Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great, who reigned alone from 41 to 44 AD. This is why we can date the episode precisely.  Agrippa, ‘a Roman in Caesarea, a Jew in Jerusalem’, sought to curry favour with both Rome and the Jews. In both cases, the Christians were enemies to be eliminated. To please the Jews, he has James, son of Zebedee, put to death and imprisons Peter during the Jewish Passover, the Week of Unleavened Bread. What interests Luke is the mission, not just Peter, who once again escapes miraculously, because for Luke the central point is evangelisation. The angel does not set them free to save them, but because ‘the world needs them’. God does not abandon the apostles: no blind tyranny can halt the proclamation of the Word of life. There is a parallel between Easter, the Exodus and the Passion. In a sense, the story of the Jewish Passover is repeated: Israel, enslaved and threatened with genocide, is miraculously freed by God. From century to century, the people remember that liberation is God’s work. And what of this paradox: can those called to proclaim and carry out God’s liberating work become complicit in a new form of domination? No Church is immune. Jesus died precisely because of the perversion of the religious power of his time: during Easter, the memorial of the liberating God, the Son of God is killed by the ‘defenders of God’. Yet it is the love and forgiveness of the ‘meek and humble of heart’ God that triumphs: Jesus rises from the dead. Now it is the young Church that faces religious and political power, just as Jesus did 10–15 years earlier, again during Passover in Jerusalem.  The angel says to Peter: ‘Get up quickly! Put on your belt, fasten your sandals…’. These are the very same words given to Israel on the night of the Exodus: ‘Gird your loins, put sandals on your feet, and take your staff in your hand. You shall eat it in haste’ (Ex 12:11). Luke is saying: God continues the work of liberation.  The entire narrative is structured on the model of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection: night, prison, soldiers, the ‘steamroller’ of domination. Peter sleeps passively, like Jesus in the sleep of death. For both of them, light dawns in the night: God is at work. And here is the conclusion: Jesus had said to Peter: ‘The forces of death—that is, of hatred—will not prevail’, and this teaches us that the miraculous is not an end in itself. God sets us free so that the mission may continue through the ages. The deliverance from Egypt, Christ’s Passover, Peter’s imprisonment: it is a single plan of God who saves in order to send us forth to proclaim the life that no one can destroy.

Responsorial Psalm (33/34)

In this psalm, we are guided by this central theme: God hears the cry of the poor and responds with the Spirit and with brothers and sisters.  After Peter’s deliverance, the psalm reminds us: ‘The angel of the Lord encamps round those who fear him, to deliver them’. And we realise that, whilst the whole Church was praying fervently for Peter in prison, the Lord set him free: ‘The poor cry out,’ says the psalm, ‘and the Lord hears…’. This is what faith is: daring to cry out to God, knowing that, in every circumstance, He hears our cry. The community cried out, and Peter was set free. Yet one question always remains: what if deliverance does not come? Jesus on the cross did not escape death. Peter himself, years later, would be imprisoned in Rome and executed. So was God no longer listening then? It is the question we keep asking ourselves: where is God when we suffer? What is the point of praying, and if we are not answered as we would like, does that mean we have prayed badly? Too many people say, ‘If you pray properly, everything will work out’, but we know that is not always the case. How many have prayed, made novenas and gone on pilgrimages for a healing that never came? This psalm offers us three answers. 1. God hears our cry. As at the burning bush: ‘I have seen the misery of my people in Egypt; I have heard their cry under their oppressors. I know their sufferings’ (Ex 3:7). The believer knows that the Lord is near in suffering, ‘on our side’. Psalm 33/34 says: ‘I sought the Lord, and he answered me… he delivered me. He listens, he saves; his angel encamps round us, he is a refuge’. 2. God responds by giving us his Spirit. “Ask, and it will be given to you… Which father… would give a snake to a son who asks for a fish?” (Luke 11:9–13). Jesus does not promise that everything will be resolved “as if by magic”. When we pray, God does not remove the problem, but fills us with his Spirit. With the Spirit, we can face our trials. Every prayer offered in faith opens us up to the transforming action of the Spirit. The answer to the desperate cry is therefore the inner strength of the Spirit to change the situation, to overcome the trial. “The poor man cries out; the Lord hears him: he saves him from all his troubles… I sought the Lord, and he answered me: he delivered me from all my fears.” Whatever blow may come, the believer knows they are heard, and their anguish can subside. 3. God raises up brothers and sisters around us.  Here is the second lesson from the burning bush: as soon as God says to Moses, ‘I have seen… I have heard the cry… I know their sufferings’, he stirs within Moses the impulse to free the people: “Go, I am sending you to Pharaoh; bring my people out of Egypt” (Ex 3:9–10).  Israel has experienced this pattern many times: suffering, a cry, prayer, and God raising up prophets and leaders to take their destiny back into their own hands. This is precisely the historical experience of Israel. 4. Faith is like a double word, a double cry: man cries out his misery to God, like Job. God listens and frees him from his anguish. And man speaks again to give thanks.  Israel’s vocation throughout the centuries has been to give voice to this polyphony of suffering, praise and hope, and throughout the course of its history nothing has been able to extinguish Israel’s hope. This is what characterises the believer:  ‘I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall ever be on my lips. I take pride in the Lord: let the poor hear and rejoice!’

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (4:6–8, 17–18)

Not everyone agrees that the Letters to Timothy were written by Paul, but these lines are certainly his: indeed, they are his testament, his final farewell as a prisoner in Rome. He knows that he will be released only to be put to death. The ‘time of departure’ has come: he uses the Greek term anàlysis, ‘to cast off the moorings, to weigh anchor’.  Viewing life as a marathon, Paul takes stock using the sporting image dear to him: the long-distance runner crossing the finish line. The time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now all that remains is for me to receive the crown of righteousness.  In Rome, the victor did not receive a cup, but a laurel wreath. There is a crown for everyone, so Paul does not boast: he knows that the Lord, the righteous judge, will award it on that day; not only to me, but also to all those who have lovingly awaited his glorious appearing. God, the impartial judge, sees the intentions of the heart, and all the apostles, all the believers who have longed with love for the coming of Christ, will receive the crown. It is therefore not presumption, but unshakeable trust in God’s goodness. For the very strength to run comes from Him: ‘The Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that I might fulfil the proclamation of the Gospel and all the nations might hear it’. We must learn to expect everything from God: it is He who gives the strength to run, and it is He who gives the reward to all who run, for life is not a competitive race. Each in their own place, at their own pace; it is enough to ‘long with love for the coming of Christ’. Is this not the ‘blessed hope’ we profess at Mass: ‘We await your coming in glory’? For Paul, the definitive ‘manifestation’ of Christ has always been the horizon towards which to run, and he acknowledges that he has been forsaken by men, yet always sustained by the Lord. Like Christ on the cross and later Stephen, Paul forgives because it was precisely in his abandonment by men that he experienced the presence and strength of the Lord.  The final sentences are striking: he knows he will die, yet he says, ‘The Lord will deliver me from every evil and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom’. He is not, therefore, speaking of physical death, which he expects from one day to the next; he is speaking of the worst danger: giving up, abandoning the race, losing faithfulness. The Lord has preserved him from this ‘lion’. His faithfulness is not his own doing, but a strength he has received; and for him, death is merely biological, rather than the passage into glory, for which he is already singing the hymn of joy: ‘To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen’.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:13–19)

At Caesarea, a turning point is reached; an important shift takes place in the vision of Christ: from the powerful Jesus to Jesus, the Son of God, crucified.  For Matthew, the episode at Caesarea Philippi is a decisive stage: immediately afterwards, Jesus began to explain to the disciples that he had to go to Jerusalem, suffer greatly at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, be killed and rise again on the third day. ‘From this moment on’: thus a phase comes to an end, and what is surprising is that nothing new occurs in the titles, but everything is placed in a new light. Nothing unprecedented is said: Jesus gives himself the title ‘Son of Man’, which he has already used nine times in Matthew. Peter proclaims him ‘Son of God’, a title already used before. What is new is the leap in understanding: the ‘Son of Man’ in the Bible is the leader of God’s people, a title taken from the Book of Daniel: ‘Behold, one like a Son of Man was coming with the clouds of heaven… power, glory and a kingdom were given to him; all peoples, nations and languages served him. His power is eternal; his kingdom will never be destroyed’ (Dan 7:13–14). Daniel makes it clear that the ‘Son of Man’ is not merely an individual, but a people: ‘The saints of the Most High shall receive the kingdom and possess it for ever… the kingdom, the power and the greatness of the kingdoms under the whole heaven shall be given to the people of the saints of the Most High’ (Dan 7:18, 27) .  When Jesus applies this title to himself, he presents himself as the one who stands at the head of God’s people. ‘Son of God’, on the other hand, is a title that expresses trust, not power.  This title has already been used: in chapter 4, when the devil tempts Jesus: ‘If you are the Son of God’. He is right about the title, but wrong about its meaning: he imagines a powerful and invulnerable Son who uses his power for himself. For Jesus, ‘being the Son of God’ means trusting the Father completely and drawing strength from his Word.  After Jesus walks on the water, the disciples say to him: ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’. They were struck by his power over the sea. They were still one step away from understanding who Jesus truly is. What is new at Caesarea is that Peter proclaims, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, not in response to a miracle; thus the ambiguity is dispelled and the journey towards true faith begins. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.”  The novelty lies in the combination of the two titles: “Who is the Son of Man?” asks Jesus, and Peter replies, “He is the Son of God.” Jesus will make the same connection before the high priest: “You have said so. But I tell you: from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Mt 26:63). Here there is no longer any room for error: God reveals himself not as power and majesty, but as Love entrusted into the hands of humankind. As soon as Peter discovers who Jesus is,  Jesus entrusts him with a mission  for the Church: ‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church’. The Son of Man is a people, not an isolated individual.  On what does Christ—God made man—build his Church? On Peter, a fragile person whose only virtue is having listened to what the Father revealed to him. The sole pillar of the Church is faith in Jesus Christ.  ‘I will give you the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven: whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven’. This does not mean that Peter and his successors are omnipotent. It means that God is committed to them. If we remain in communion with the Church, we are in communion with God. The final reassurance is that Christ builds the Church, and herein lies the ultimate reason for our trust: Jesus says, ‘I will build my Church’. It is not our task to build it, but only to listen to what the living God wishes to reveal to us. And because it is the risen Christ, the Son of the living God, who builds it, we can be certain: “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it”.

+Giovanni D’Ercole