Confidants, not doers: the friendship of Jesus and between brethren

(Jn 15:12-17)

«Greater love hath no man than this, that one lay down his life for his friends» (v.13).

Total mutual love, which waits for nothing, for nothing, is generally not possible from the condition of precarious creatures, who willingly desire relationships seeking completion.

Unfortunately, such love-Eros not infrequently comes into being summarily. And it happens by confusing gratuitousness and necessity, by mixing the purpose with the means; by entangling individual need with self-giving.

The authentic love movement comes.

It is a Current of resemblance of the divine condition. Transparent syntony with generative value, brought by the Son: "as" and "because" [I have loved you] (v.12 Greek text).

Offhand we might not understand. But only from the acceptance of the proposal "from above", genuine, Provident, can a shift of gaze begin that activates the path of rebalancing, discoveries, selflessness, and return of the Gift.

The circle of empathic initiative and response is the core of the experience of Loving Faith [replacing religious devotion].

Once one has experienced the intoxication and sense of fullness of being, one will never want to leave this new cosmic and personal relationship.

Jn does not speak of love of enemies as Mt 5 does in the Sermon on the Mount, but insists on mutual love (within the community of believers) as a relationship with the divine life itself.

The fourth Gospel is concerned with the consistency and quality of relationships between church members: the first ones deputed to the proclamation of peace, justice and love in the existential peripheries.

Precisely to the distant ones they will preach the new face of God, of society, of person, and they will not be able to live in the duplicity of discipleship.

Of course, that of God's intimate life is not sacrificial love; it does not demand a spirit of common nomenclature, renunciation, mortification and effort, but rather fidelity to one's deepest vocation.

We are "friends" (vv.14-15) no longer servants of God. The term alludes to equality and mutual benefit in growth, which envelops every firm domestic dimension.

A relational configuration that in an atmosphere of agape makes each discover his or her own Name - as well as that of the Church capable of communion.

It is the seal of the focal and missionary physiognomy, and vice versa.

Ecclesial Communion itself will not be that of religious uniformity, but the fruit of the exchange of gifts.

Conviviality of differences and recovery of opposites, in view of the shared enrichment of each, in coexistence.

One-sidedness is also banished in terms of the very participation in the overriding current of love that willingly descends on our senses of permanence, to move us.

The confrontation with daily history coming out of the sacristies forces us to purification and essentiality, makes us creative and available to God's future.

The healthy pluralism of different colours, approaches and styles in the way of living and implementing the Gospel, intends the Voice of the Spirit that helps discernment; it makes us dare.

A variegated, open polyhedron that turns on each particular voice. Counterforce that reflects the peculiar relationship that exists between divine Persons.

The Word of Deliverance itself can thus be firmly reformulated in an unprecedented and personal way, in order to correspond with new answers to new questions.

People and Church allow themselves to be challenged and keep themselves open, because they originate from the unpredictable Mystery and are precisely animated by personal Faith.

Women and men, new mothers and new fathers, open to the Gratis that welcomes the opposite - and for the unexpected - participate.

Koinonia' dispossessed, open to the gift and for the gift. Made aware of the depths of God's heart, and of its communion-eucharistic quality.

Such is the Church of Friends. Fraternity ready for the mission: "I have called you friends" (v.15) "I have constituted you so that you may go" (v.16) in the same defenceless Openness.

Difference between Religiousness and Faith? Friendship, which is stronger than both cerebral alchemy and voluntarism.

The Friend shares intentions, cultivates communion of life.

The "servant" (v.15) remains unreliable and resentful, because he is a mere executor of others' orders.

External directives do not concern one's own seed, the irreducible hidden roots, the Source from which the heart draws and which belongs to it.

It is our Core that is at stake: it manifests itself spontaneously; and it exists not by initiative, but by innate, constitutive and given character (v.16).

The trustworthy Friend is glad not only when he realises himself, but also when he can expand and cheer up the life of his beloved.

And he willingly ousts himself from the first seat in favour of the beloved.In this way - and it is worth repeating because of its terrifying relevance - in the Fourth Gospel the notes and appeals about love do not seem to be addressed to the distant.

Rather, these appeals are addressed to members of communities, so that they do not allow themselves to be carried away by ridiculous infatuations, which are inevitably transient and which would turn into a feeling of sadness or sadness.

In Jn, we see a particular concern for individuals and the climate among friends of the Faith.

This is because those who pretend to make recommendations about fine manners, roadmaps, humility, transparency, forgiveness, sharing, should first embody in themselves the spirit of selflessness and truth that they preach to others.

In short, the Lord does not ask for 'fruits' [multiple pious, outward-looking works, often tinged with exhibitionism] nor small gloating intimacies, but only one work: Love without duplicity.

In the unique and unprecedented personalisation of the 'Fruit' (v.16), Christ does not remain a Model to imitate, but a real Life that continues in the disciples.

Unique tiger in the engine, inviting the mystery of the founding Eros that dilates the I into the Thou:

In Friendship; in the opposing feelings that surface; in the growing unity of thought and aspiration; in the people who draw near; in the communion of desire and circumstance... the wills unite.

In such divine-human empathy [which is more persuasive than voluntarism] the codes of behaviour, the extrinsic, external project, to which (before) they bow, now weave a dialogue.

Finally, they come together - by 'name' [a term that in the Gospels indicates in particular the rawness of the Lord's actual event, as well as our personal interpretation and actualisation of it].

Here is the igniting and pouring out of Communion, on a high ground of understanding; without concealed conflict. And without servitude.

In short, in the Ideal as in the Dream we prefer Friendship.

And let us walk the Path of Faith in the Crucified One - that of the snub and imbalance of love.

To internalise and live the message:

"I can't live without you": How do you distinguish a self-deluded sentimental sphere, from a working proposal of union of life?

Next comes this new commandment: "love one another as I have loved you". There is no greater love than this, "that a man lay down his life for his friends". What does this mean? Here too it is not a question of moralism. Some might say: "It is not a new commandment; the commandment to love one's neighbour as oneself already exists in the Old Testament". Others say: "This love should be even more radicalized; this love of others must imitate Christ who gave himself for us; it must be a heroic love, to the point of the gift of self". In this case, however, Christianity would be a heroic moralism. It is true that we must reach the point of this radicalism of love which Christ showed to us and gave for us, but here too the true newness is not what we do, the true newness is what he did: the Lord gave us himself, and the Lord gave us the true newness of being members of his Body, of being branches of the vine that he is. Therefore, the newness is the gift, the great gift, and from the gift, from the newness of the gift, also follows, as I have said, the new action. 

St Thomas Aquinas says this very succinctly when he writes: "The New Law is the grace of the Holy Spirit" (Summa Theologiae, I-IIae, q.106 a. 1). The New Law is not another commandment more difficult than the others: the New Law is a gift, the New Law is the presence of the Holy Spirit imparted to us in the sacrament of Baptism, in Confirmation, and given to us every day in the Most Blessed Eucharist. The Fathers distinguished here between "sacramentum" and "exemplum". "Sacramentum" is the gift of the new being, and this gift also becomes an example for our action, but "sacramentum" precedes it and we live by the sacrament. Here we see the centrality of the sacrament which is the centrality of the gift. 

Let us proceed in our reflection. The Lord says: "No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you". No longer servants who obey orders, but friends who know, who are united in the same will, in the same love. Hence the newness is that God has made himself known, that God has shown himself, that God is no longer the unknown God, sought but not found or only perceived from afar. God has shown himself: in the Face of Christ we see God, God has made himself "known", and has thereby made us his friends. Let us think how, in humanity's history, in all the archaic religions, it is known that there is a God. This knowledge is deeply rooted in the human heart, the knowledge that God is one, that deities are not "the" God. Yet this God remains very distant, he does not seem to make himself known, he does not make himself loved, he is not a friend, but is remote. Religions, therefore, were not very concerned with this God, concrete life was concerned with the spirits that we meet every day and with which we must reckon daily. God remained distant. 

Then we see the great philosophical movement: let us think of Plato and Aristotle who began to understand that this God is the agathon, goodness itself, that he is the eros that moves the world; yet this remains a human thought, it is an idea of God that comes close to the truth but it is an idea of ours and God remains the hidden God. 

A Regensburg professor recently wrote to me, a professor of physics who had read my Discourse to the University very late. He wrote to tell me that he could not agree, or not fully, with my logic. He said: "Of course, the idea is convincing that the rational structure of the world demands a creative reason that made this rationality which is not explained by itself". And he continued: "But if a demiurge can exist", this is how he put it, "a demiurge seems to me certain by what you say, I do not see that there is a God who is good, just and merciful. I can see that there is a reason that precedes the rationality of the cosmos, but I cannot see the rest". Thus God remains hidden to him. It is a reason that precedes our reasoning, our rationality, the rationality of being, but eternal love does not exist, the great mercy that gives us life does not exist. 

And here, in Christ, God showed himself in his total truth, he showed that he is reason and love, that eternal reason is love and thus creates. Unfortunately, today too, many people live far from Christ, they do not know his face and thus the eternal temptation of dualism, which is also hidden in this professor's letter, is constantly renewed, in other words perhaps there is not only one good principle but also a bad principle, a principle of evil; perhaps the world is divided and there are two equally strong realities and the Good God is only part of the reality. Today, even in theology, including Catholic theology, this thesis is being disseminated: that God is not almighty. Thus an apology is sought for God who would not, therefore, be responsible for the great store of evil we encounter in the world. But what a feeble apology! A God who is not almighty! Evil is not in his hands! And how could we possibly entrust ourselves to this God? How could we be certain of his love if this love ended where the power of evil began? 

However, God is no longer unknown: in the Face of the Crucified Christ we see God and we see true omnipotence, not the myth of omnipotence. For us human beings, almightiness, power, is always identified with the capacity to destroy, to do evil. Nevertheless the true concept of omnipotence that appears in Christ is precisely the opposite: in him true omnipotence is loving to the point that God can suffer: here his true omnipotence is revealed, which can even go as far as a love that suffers for us. And thus we see that he is the true God and the true God, who is love, is power: the power of love. And we can trust ourselves to his almighty love and live in this, with this almighty love. 

I think we should always meditate anew on this reality, that we should thank God because he has shown himself, because we know his Face, we know him face to face; no longer like Moses who could only see the back of the Lord. This too is a beautiful idea of which St Gregory of Nyssa said: "Seeing only his back, means that we must always follow Christ". But at the same time God showed us his Countenance with Christ, his Face. The curtain of the temple was torn. It opened, the mystery of God is visible. The first commandment that excludes images of God because they might only diminish his reality is changed, renewed, taking another form. Today we can see God's Face in Christ the man, we can have an image of Christ and thus see who God is. 

I think that those who have understood this, who have been touched by this mystery, that God has revealed himself, that the curtain of the temple has been torn asunder, that he has shown his Face, find a source of permanent joy. We can only say "thank you. Yes, now we know who you are, who God is and how to respond to him". And I think that this joy of knowing God who has shown himself, to the depths of his being, also embraces the joy of communicating this: those who have understood this, who live touched by this reality, must do as the first disciples did when they went to their friends and brethren saying: "We have found the one of whom the Prophets spoke. He is present now". Mission is not an external appendix to the faith but rather the dynamism of faith itself. Those who have seen, who have encountered Jesus, must go to their friends and tell them: "We have found him, he is Jesus, the One who was Crucified for us". 

Then, continuing, the text says: "I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide". With this we return to the beginning, to the image, to the Parable of the Vine: it is created to bear fruit. And what is the fruit? As we have said, the fruit is love. In the Old Testament, with the Torah as the first stage of God's revelation of himself, the fruit was understood as justice, that is, living in accordance with the Word of God, living in accordance with God's will, hence, living well. 

This continues but at the same time is transcended: true justice does not consist in obedience to a few norms, rather it is love, creative love that finds in itself the riches and abundance of good.
Abundance is one of the key words of the New Testament. God himself always gives in abundance. In order to create man, he creates this abundance of an immense cosmos; to redeem man he gives himself, in the Eucharist he gives himself. And anyone who is united with Christ, who is a branch of the Vine and who abides by this law does not ask: "Can I still do this or not?", "Should I do this or not?". Rather, he lives in the enthusiasm of love that does not ask: "Is this still necessary or is it forbidden?", but simply, in the creativity of love, wants to live with Christ and for Christ and give his whole self to him, thus entering into the joy of bearing fruit. Let us also bear in mind that the Lord says: "I chose you and appointed you that you should go": this is the dynamism that dwells in Christ's love; to go, in other words not to remain alone for me, to see my perfection, to guarantee eternal beatification for me, but rather to forget myself, to go as Christ went, to go as God went from the immensity of his majesty to our poverty, to find fruit, to help us, to give us the possibility of bearing the true fruit of love. The fuller we are of this joy in having discovered God's Face, the more real will the enthusiasm of love in us be and it will bear fruit. 

And finally, we come to the last words in this passage: "Whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you": a brief catechesis on prayer that never ceases to surprise us. Twice in this chapter 15 the Lord says: "ask whatever you will, and it shall be done for you", and he says it once more in chapter 16. And we want to say: "But no, Lord it is not true". There are so many good and deeply-felt prayers of mothers who pray for a dying child which are not heard, so many prayers that something good will happen and the Lord does not grant it. What does this promise mean? In chapter 16 the Lord offers us the key to understanding it: he tells us what he gives us, what all this is, chara, joy. If someone has found joy he has found all things and sees all things in the light of divine love. Like St Francis, who wrote the great poem on creation in a bleak situation, yet even there, close to the suffering Lord, he rediscovered the beauty of being, the goodness of God and composed this great poem. 

It is also useful to remember at the same time some verses of Luke's Gospel, in which the Lord, in a parable, speaks of prayer, saying, "If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!". The Holy Spirit, in the Gospel according to Luke, is joy, in John's Gospel he is the same reality: joy is the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit is joy or, in other words from God we do not ask something small or great, from God we invoke the divine gift, God himself; this is the great gift that God gives us: God himself. In this regard we must learn to pray, to pray for the great reality, for the divine reality, so that God may give us himself, may give us his Spirit and thus we may respond to the demands of life and help others in their suffering. Of course he teaches us the "Our Father". We can pray for many things. In all our needs we can pray: "Help me!". This is very human and God is human, as we have seen; therefore it is right to pray God also for the small things of our daily lives. 

However, at the same time, prayer is a journey, I would say flight of stairs: we must learn more and more what it is that we can pray for and what we cannot pray for because it is an expression of our selfishness. I cannot pray for things that are harmful for others, I cannot pray for things that help my egoism, my pride. Thus prayer, in God's eyes, becomes a process of purification of our thoughts, of our desires. As the Lord says in the Parable of the Vine: we must be pruned, purified, every day; living with Christ, in Christ, abiding in Christ, is a process of purification and it is only in this process of slow purification, of liberation from ourselves and from the desire to have only ourselves, that the true journey of life lies and the path of joy unfolds. 

As I have already said, all the Lord's words have a sacramental background. The fundamental background for the Parable of the Vine is Baptism: we are implanted in Christ; and the Eucharist: we are one loaf, one body, one blood, one life with Christ. Thus this process of purification also has a sacramental background: the sacrament of Penance, of Reconciliation, in which we accept this divine pedagogy which day by day, throughout our life, purifies us and increasingly makes us true members of his Body. In this way we can learn that God responds to our prayers, that he often responds with his goodness also to small prayers, but often too he corrects them, transforms them and guides them so that we may at last and really be branches of his Son, of the true vine, members of his Body. 

Let us thank God for the greatness of his love, let us pray that he may help us to grow in his love and truly to abide in his love.

[Pope Benedict, Lectio at the PSRM 12 February 2010]

Men, eternally elected by the Father in the Beloved Son, find in Christ the Way to their end as adopted children. To Him they unite themselves by becoming His Body. Through Him they ascend to the Father as one "whole" with the things of earth and heaven.

This divine plan finds its historical fulfilment when Jesus establishes the Church, which he first announces and then founds with the sacrifice of his blood and the mandate given to the Apostles to shepherd his flock. It is a historical fact and at the same time a mystery of communion in Christ. For the realisation of this communion of men in Christ eternally willed by God, the commandment that Jesus himself calls 'my commandment' is of essential importance. He calls it 'a new commandment': 'I give you a new commandment: that you love one another. As I have loved you, so also love one another'. "This is my commandment: that you love one another, as I have loved you".

The commandment to love God above all things, and one's neighbour as oneself, has its roots in the Old Testament. But Jesus summarises it, formulates it in sculptural words, gives it a new meaning, as a sign of his followers' belonging to him. "By this all will know that you are my disciples: if you have love for one another". Christ himself is the living model and measure of that love of which he speaks in his commandment: 'As I have loved you,' he says. And indeed he presents himself as the source of that love, as 'the vine', which bears fruit with that love in his disciples, who are 'the branches' of it: 'I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, bears much fruit, for without me you can do nothing'. Hence the exhortation: 'Abide in my love'. The community of disciples, rooted in that love with which Christ himself loved them, is the Church, the Body of Christ, the one vine of which we are the branches. It is the Church-communion, the Church-community of love, the Church-mystery of love. The members of this community love Christ and, in Him, love one another. But it is a love that, deriving from the love with which Jesus himself loved them, is linked back to the source of the love of Christ Man-God, namely the Trinitarian communion. From it it draws its entire nature, its supernatural qualification, and tends to it as to its own definitive fulfilment.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 15 January 1992]

Today’s Gospel — John Chapter 15 — brings us back to the Last Supper, when we hear Jesus’ new commandment. He says: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you” (v. 12). Thinking of his imminent sacrifice on the cross, He adds: “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends, if you do what I command you” (v. 13-14). These words, said at the Last Supper, summarize Jesus’ full message. Actually they summarize all that He did: Jesus gave His life for His friends. Friends who did not understand Him, in fact they abandoned, betrayed and denied Him at the crucial moment. This tells us that He loves us, even though we don’t deserve His love. Jesus loves us in this way!

Thus Jesus shows us the path to follow Him: the path of love. His commandment is not a simple teaching which is always abstract or foreign to life. Christ’s commandment is new because He realized it first, He gave His flesh and thus the law of love is written upon the heart of man (cf. Jer 31:33). And how is it written? It is written with the fire of the Holy Spirit. With this Spirit that Jesus gives us, we too can take this path!

It is a real path, a path that leads us to come out of ourselves and go towards others. Jesus showed us that the love of God is realized in love for our neighbour. Both go hand-in-hand. The pages of the Gospel are full of this love: adults and children, educated and uneducated, rich and poor, just and sinners all were welcomed into the heart of Christ.

Therefore, this Word of God calls us to love one another, even if we do not always understand each other, and do not always get along... it is then that Christian love is seen. A love which manifests even if there are differences of opinion or character. Love is greater than these differences! This is the love that Jesus taught us. It is a new love because Jesus and his Spirit renewed it. It is a redeeming love, free from selfishness. A love which gives our hearts joy, as Jesus himself said: “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (Jn 15:11).

It is precisely Christ’s love that the Holy Spirit pours into our hearts to make everyday wonders in the Church and in the world. There are many small and great actions which obey the Lord’s commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you” (cf. Jn 15:12). Small everyday actions, actions of closeness to an elderly person, to a child, to a sick person, to a lonely person, those in difficulty, without a home, without work, an immigrant, a refugee.... Thanks to the strength of the Word of Christ, each one of us can make ourselves the brother or sister of those whom we encounter. Actions of closeness, actions which manifest the love that Christ taught us.

May our Most Holy Mother help us in this, so that in each of our daily lives love of God and love of neighbour may be ever united.

[Pope Francis, Regina Coeli 10 May 2015]

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (32/33)

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (22/23)

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Third Easter Sunday (year A) [19 April 2026] 

*First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (2:4, 22b–33)

The same Peter who, out of fear, had denied Jesus during his trial and who, after his death, had been holed up with the other disciples in a locked room, we find today, just fifty days later, standing and delivering an impromptu speech before thousands of people; and if Luke notes that he is standing, it is because the posture is symbolic: in a sense, Peter is awakening, coming back to life, rising up. Before going any further, it should be noted that up to this point Peter had not been a model of boldness, and yet it is precisely to him that Jesus now entrusts the boldest of missions: to continue the work of evangelisation, a mission that cost the Son of God himself his life, and the man who not long before had denied the Master will soon rejoice in being persecuted.  This entirely new strength, this boldness, Peter does not draw from himself, but is a gift from God. Let us return to that Pentecost morning in the year of Jesus’ death, when Jerusalem was teeming with people: they were pilgrims who had come from all over for the festival because, just like Peter and the other apostles of Jesus, they shared the hope of Israel, and it is on this hope that Peter relies to proclaim that the long-awaited Messiah has come and that we have had the privilege of knowing him. Peter emphasises in his speech the continuity of God’s work, which for him is a crucial point, and invokes the testimony of Psalm 15/16. His listeners are the least prepared to accept his words precisely because, having always awaited the Messiah, they have had time to form their own ideas about him—human ideas—and God cannot help but surprise our human ideas. One of the most unacceptable aspects of the mystery of Jesus for his contemporaries is his death on the cross: on Good Friday, Jesus, abandoned by all, truly seemed cursed by God himself, and so how could he be the Messiah? On Easter evening, the apostles realised that he was indeed the Messiah because they had witnessed his Resurrection.  Peter concludes by appealing to his listeners, telling them that if they have not been direct witnesses of the Resurrection, the only possible experience is that of seeing and hearing the twelve apostles transformed by the Holy Spirit

*Responsorial Psalm (15/16)

In the verses of Psalm 15/16, which are set before us today, some phrases seem to convey perfect happiness and everything appears so simple. The psalmist declares: ‘Lord, you are my God; I have made you my refuge; I have no good apart from you.’ In other verses, however, one senses the echo of danger, and Israel pleads, asking not to be abandoned to death nor to be allowed to see corruption. Here lies all the joy of Israel when the heart rejoices, the soul is in celebration because the Lord is ‘my portion and my cup, and I have no good apart from you’. Here Israel is likened to a Levite, to a priest who dwells ceaselessly in the temple of God and lives in intimacy with Him. The expression “Lord, my portion and my cup; upon You my lot depends” is an allusion to when the division of the land of Israel among the tribes of Jacob’s descendants was made by lot. At that time, the members of the tribe of Levi had not received a portion of land: their portion was the House of God, that is, service in the Temple, service to God, and their entire lives were consecrated to worship. They therefore had no territory, and their livelihood was secured by tithes and a portion of the harvests and meat offered in sacrifice. This also helps us understand the other verse of this psalm, which we do not hear today, where the psalmist says, ‘My portion makes me glad; I truly have the finest inheritance’. The Levites guarded the Temple day and night, and this is alluded to when the psalm notes, ‘even at night my heart instructs me’. In this psalm, one also senses the echo of danger, and the plea, ‘you cannot abandon me to death, nor let your holy one see corruption’, conveys the often-suffered tribulations of the chosen people.  The opening plea for help, ‘Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge’, and the repeated expressions of trust suggest a period when, indeed, trust was hard to come by, and this cry for help is at the same time a profession of faith, for it reflects the struggle against idolatry to remain faithful to the one God. In another verse of the psalm we read that all the idols of the land never cease to spread their harm, and people rush to follow them. This shows that Israel sometimes succumbed to idolatry but made a commitment not to fall back into it, and the statement ‘I have made you, my God, my only refuge’ conveys this resolve. We can then appreciate how eloquent the image of the Levite is, for it is a way of saying that by choosing to remain faithful to the true God, the people of Israel made the true choice that brings them into intimacy with God, and Israel’s trust inspires such striking phrases as ‘eternity of delights’ or ‘you cannot abandon me to death, nor let your friend see corruption’. One might wonder whether, when the psalm was written, there was already, albeit in a confused form, a first glimmer of faith in the Resurrection, even though we know that belief in individual resurrection appeared very late in Israel. Here it seems rather that the focus is on the people whose survival is in danger because of their succumbing to idolatry. But they are convinced that God will not abandon them, and that is why they affirm: ‘You cannot abandon me to death, nor let your friend see corruption’. Around the second century BC, when belief in the resurrection of each of us began to take hold, the phrase ‘you will not abandon me to death, nor let your friend see decay’ was understood in this sense, and later Christians reinterpreted this psalm in their own way, as we heard in the first reading. On the morning of Pentecost, Peter quoted this psalm to the Jewish pilgrims who had come in great numbers to Jerusalem for the feast, to show them that Jesus was truly the Messiah. He recalled that when David composed this psalm, without realising it, he was already announcing the Resurrection of the Messiah. Here we have an example of the first Christian preaching addressed to Jews, that is, how the first apostles reinterpreted Jewish tradition, discovering within it a new dimension: the proclamation of Jesus Christ. Over the centuries, this psalm has carried the prayer of Israel in its expectation of the Messiah, becoming enriched with new meanings; yet it was the first Christian generation that discovered and demonstrated that the Scriptures find their full meaning in Jesus Christ.

*Second Reading from the First Letter of the Apostle Peter (1:17–21)

In the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we read Peter’s speech on the morning of Pentecost, a model of the first Christian preaching addressed to Jews. Here, however, in Peter’s letter, we see a sermon addressed to pagans—non-Jews who had become Christians—and it is obvious that the discourse is not the same, for it is the ABC of communication to adapt one’s language to the audience. And even though we do not know exactly to whom the letter is addressed—since in the opening lines Peter merely states that he is writing to the elect living as strangers in the five provinces of present-day Turkey, Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia, what suggests they were not of Jewish origin is the phrase ‘you have been redeemed from the futile ways inherited from your fathers’. Peter, being Jewish himself, would not say such a thing to Jews, knowing all too well what hope runs through the Scriptures and how the whole life of his people is directed towards God. What strikes the eye in this simple passage is the striking number of allusions to the Bible, with expressions such as the blood of the Lamb without blemish or spot, the Father who judges impartially, and the fear of God; and if Peter uses them without explaining them, it is because his audience is familiar with them. But this is only possible if they are non-Jews. The most likely hypothesis is that many sympathisers gathered around the synagogues, and among them a significant number of those called ‘God-fearing’, who were so close to Judaism that they observed the Sabbath; they listened to all the synagogue readings on Saturday mornings, and consequently knew the Hebrew Scriptures well but had never gone so far as to ask for circumcision. It is thought that the early Christians were recruited mainly from among them, and it is worth returning to two expressions in Peter’s letter that may strike us as odd if we do not place them in their biblical context.  First of all, the expression ‘fear of God’ has a particular meaning precisely because God revealed himself to his people as Father. The fear of God, therefore, is not fear but a filial attitude made up of tenderness, respect, veneration and total trust, and Peter says that since you call upon God as your Father, you live in the fear of God by behaving as children. If you call upon as Father the One who judges everyone impartially according to their deeds, you therefore live in the fear of God. From Peter’s emphasis on the One who judges everyone impartially according to their deeds, we can surmise that some of these new Christians, coming from paganism, felt inferior to Christians of Jewish origin, and Peter therefore wishes to reassure them by saying, in essence: you are children just like the others; simply behave as children. The second phrase that might cause offence is: ‘you have been redeemed by the precious blood of Christ’. The risk is of seeing this as a horrendous bartering, without being able to say clearly between whom and whom. But reading Peter’s sentence in full – “not with perishable things such as silver or gold were you redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your forefathers, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect” – two things become clear: firstly, this is not a matter of bartering; our liberation is free, and Peter takes care to say ‘not with gold or silver’, a way of saying it is free. Secondly, Peter does not place the emphasis where we do, because the blood of a lamb without blemish or defect is the blood that was shed every year at Passover and which marked Israel’s liberation from all forms of slavery.  This blood that was shed heralded God’s ongoing work to free his people and, for a reader familiar with the Old Testament, is a reference to the feast of freedom—a freedom on the journey towards the Promised Land. But now, Peter notes, definitive liberation has been accomplished in Jesus Christ. We have now entered   a new life better than the Promised Land, and this liberation consists precisely in calling upon God as Father. We can then better understand  the phrase: you have been redeemed, that is, freed from the superficial way of life inherited from your fathers; ‘superficial’ here means that it leads nowhere, as opposed to eternal life. Since the Son lived as a man in trust until the end, it is all of humanity that has rediscovered the path of a filial attitude. Ultimately, it is a matter of having rediscovered the path to the tree of life, to use the image from Genesis. Paul would say: you have passed from the slave’s attitude of fear and mistrust to the filial reverence proper to children.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (24:13–35)

Note the parallel between these two phrases: their eyes were prevented from recognising him, and then their eyes were opened; this means that the two disciples of Emmaus passed from the deepest discouragement to enthusiasm simply because their eyes were opened. Why were they opened? Because Jesus explained the Scriptures to them, and beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted in all the Scriptures what concerned him. This means that Jesus Christ is at the centre of God’s plan revealed in Scripture. The Old Testament must not, however, be reduced to a mere backdrop for the New, because to read the prophets as if they were announcing only the historical coming of Jesus Christ is to betray the Old Testament and strip it of all its historical depth, given that the Old Testament is the testimony of God’s long-suffering patience in revealing himself to his people and enabling them to live in his Covenant. The words of the prophets, for example, apply first and foremost to the era in which they were spoken, and we must not forget that reading Jesus Christ as the centre of human history and therefore also of Scripture is a Christian interpretation. The Jews have a different one, and we Jews and Christians agree in invoking God the Father of all mankind and in reading in the Old Testament the long wait for the Messiah, but let us not forget that recognising Jesus as the Messiah is not self-evident; it becomes so for those whose eyes are somehow opened and whose hearts consequently burn within them, just as those of the disciples of Emmaus did. It would be wonderful to know all the biblical texts that Jesus went through with the two disciples of Emmaus. We do know, however, that at the end of this biblical journey Jesus concludes by asking: ‘Was it not necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and enter into his glory?’ This phrase presents a real difficulty for us because it lends itself to two possible interpretations. The first possible interpretation is “it was necessary for the Christ to suffer in order to deserve to enter into his glory”, as if there were a requirement on the part of the Father; but this interpretation betrays the Scriptures because it presents Jesus’ relationship with the Father in terms of merit, which is not at all in keeping with the Old Testament revelation that Jesus developed. God is nothing but Love, Gift and Forgiveness, and with Him it is not a matter of balance, merit, arithmetic or calculation. It is also true that the New Testament often speaks of the fulfilment of the Scriptures, but not in this sense. There is, however, a second way of reading this phrase: ‘it was necessary for the Christ to suffer in order to enter into his glory’: the glory of God is his presence manifested to us. Now we know that God is Love. One could rephrase the sentence thus: ‘it was necessary for the Christ to suffer’ so that God’s love might be manifested and revealed. Jesus himself gave a foreshadowing of his death when he said to his disciples, ‘There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for those one loves’. It was therefore necessary for love to go that far, to the point of facing hatred, abandonment and death, so that we might discover that God’s love is the greatest love, so that we might discover how far God’s love goes—so far beyond our own way of loving and so unimaginable in the true sense of the word. It was necessary for it to be revealed to us, and for it to be revealed, it had to go that far. “It was necessary” does not therefore mean a requirement on God’s part, but a necessity for us; and to say that the events of Jesus’ life fulfil the Scriptures is to say that his entire life is a revelation in action of this love of the Father, whatever the circumstances, including persecution, hatred, condemnation and death. The Resurrection of Jesus authenticates this revelation: this love is stronger than death.

+Giovanni D’Ercole