Here is the Jonah syndrome, which "affects those who are not zealous for the conversion of people, who seek a holiness — if I may use the word — a holiness of the dry cleaners, that is, all beautiful, all well done, but without the zeal that leads us to preach the Lord." The Pope recalled that the Lord "before this generation, sick with the Jonah syndrome, promises the sign of Jonah." He added: 'In the other version, that of Matthew, it says: but Jonah was in the whale three nights and three days... The reference is to Jesus in the tomb, to his death and resurrection. And this is the sign that Jesus promises: against hypocrisy, against this attitude of perfect religiosity, against this attitude of a group of Pharisees'.

To clarify the concept, the Bishop of Rome referred to another parable from the Gospel "that well represents what Jesus wants to say. It is the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector praying in the temple (Luke 14:10-14). The Pharisee is so sure of himself before the altar that he says: 'I thank you, God, that I am not like all these people of Nineveh, nor even like that man over there! And the man over there was the tax collector, who said only: 'Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner'.

The sign that Jesus promises, Pope Francis explained, is his forgiveness through his death and resurrection. The sign that Jesus promises is his mercy, which God had been asking for a long time: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice'. Therefore, 'the true sign of Jonah is that which gives us the confidence that we will be saved by the blood of Christ. There are many Christians who think they are saved only because of what they do, because of their works. Works are necessary, but they are a consequence, a response to that merciful love that saves us." Works alone, without this merciful love, are not enough.

Therefore, "the Jonah syndrome affects those who trust only in their personal righteousness, in their works." And when Jesus says "this evil generation," he is referring to "all those who have the Jonah syndrome within themselves." But there is more: "The Jonah syndrome," said the Pope, "leads us to hypocrisy, to that self-sufficiency that we believe we achieve because we are clean, perfect Christians, because we do these works, we observe the commandments, everything. A great disease, the Jonah syndrome!" Whereas "the sign of Jonah" is "the mercy of God in Jesus Christ, who died and rose for us, for our salvation."

"There are two words in the first reading," he added, "that connect with this. Paul says of himself that he is an apostle, not because he studied, but because he was called. And he says to Christians: you are called by Jesus Christ. The sign of Jonah calls us." Today's liturgy, the Pope concluded, helps us to understand and make a choice: "Do we want to follow the syndrome of Jonah or the sign of Jonah?"

[Pope Francis, St. Martha's, in L'Osservatore Romano, 15 October 2013]

Weeds and possibilities: the sense of the happy Mystery - from the shortcomings

(Mt 13:24-30)

The metaphor that follows the initial parable is intended to emphasize that the presence of “evil” in the world is not to be attributed to the lack of vitality of the Seed, nor to the divine Work.

And Jesus upsets the precipitous cliché of apostolic morality:

«So You want us to go and gather them? But He declares: No, for by reaping the tares you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest.» (vv.28-30).

In his commentary on Tao Tê Ching xxxvi master Wang Pi writes: «By conforming to the nature of creatures, the best way to avoid future difficulties is to induce them to spontaneously run to ruin, without subjecting them to punishment».

Qualities are intertwined with errors, weaknesses and inconsistencies, but from the earliest days in the communities, some believers struggled to live with the different mentalities of their brethren of faith - a situation that nevertheless allowed life to teem.

It was experienced that time was the best medicine to make the parasitic weed spontaneously dry up: and it did not even was turning out to be so infertile; quite the contrary.

The parable of the good wheat and the weeds is meant to help us not to fall into exclusivism - not because of ideological issues, but vital ones.

The rough hands of some disciples would tear up all the intertwining of the various roots with the earth and each other.

Premature sorting would ruin everything good in the present, and the future itself.

The Lord's teaching is a reminder.

It is not immediate to understand the multifaceted significance of these preparatory energies, which from their magma and dissent will give birth to the unexpected attunements of God's inopinable future.

New opportunities also sprout from personal or institutional mediocrity. Even it a paradoxical condition of growth and prosperity of the Church, 'perfect' to the extent that it recognises itself on the path of conversion to Christ: «semper conformanda».

As in the Community, those who face life in the Spirit and wish their adventure to flourish, must learn to respect discomforts and make contradictions live within themselves.

The uniformity of fundamentalists or purists would like an external, immediate and decisive justice (in eloquent forms) but only God is able to plumb the depths of events.

Fraternities must not enclose themselves within suffocating hedges.

They have the mission to learn dialogue with differences and standing with disparate oppositions, so that life becomes rich through diverse relationships and the concrete exchange of personal gifts, in varied and even discordant contexts.

Such is the added value that opens up New Life, while the myth of indefectibility remains confined to sects.

In fact, not infrequently that very side of ourselves that we do not want, that we reject, that we would like to exclude or correct - and misjudged by others - has perhaps already revealed itself or will in time reveal itself to be the best part of us, both from the point of view of exceptional realisation of personality and of the Calling by missionary Name.

Each believer is both 'ally' and unfaithful at the same time, but in such friction lurks the new sparks [also of disappointment, but fruitful] and our completion - traversing the paradoxes of fallibility.

As well as unprecedented cultural, even economic, political and social paths.

The Church is imperceptible beginning, not extraordinary term

(Mt 13:31-35)

Jesus helps people to discover the things of God and man in everyday life.

The Master teaches that the extraordinary of the eternal world is hidden in ordinary things: life itself is a transparency of the Mystery.

He reveals the Kingdom becoming Present, describing precisely the essential characteristics of the community of disciples - and using here the simple comparisons of the «mustard seed» and the «leaven».

To say: the authentic Church is within reach of everyone, everywhere - nonetheless exiguous; inapparent, yet intimately dynamic.

In it, we experience a contrast between beginnings and term: we experience the Kingdom 'within' each one that welcomes the character of an inapparent Word-event, but one that activates transformative and hospitable capacities.

The first term of comparison related to the life of the people [the little seed] mentions the story of a very small grain: a common concrete event, which is not very noticeable.

Around the Lake of Galilee, mustard shrubs can reach a maximum height of 3 metres, no more.

It is not the same development as the majestic cedars of Lebanon - rather of just any small tree in the kitchen garden (v.32), however, capable of giving a little refreshment to the birds that take refuge there.

It indicates a presence of little fuss: quite normal, mixed in with aubergines, courgettes and cucumbers...

Nothing big, yet hospitable to those suffering from the powerful heat of those places.

In short, the fraternities that the Lord dreams of will have nothing magnificent and outward, but they will know how to give shelter and rest.

The strength of the «mustard speck» is intimate, yet strong-willed: it will grow - though not by much.

That is, the authentic Church should not resemble a majestic ocean liner.

Maybe it will be more like a small barque: no big deal - yet it will raise hopes of life.

It will do so through the discreet witness of amiable evangelisers, who still proclaim and work, radiating light, captivating people.

Whoever approaches the threshold of the churches - the reference is to the distant and pagan - must feel at ease, at home.

Even the 'wanderers' will be fully entitled to take up their position and build their nest [in such a common Abode] even if they then decide to take flight again as soon as they have used it.

The next comparison - of the «leaven» (v.33) - insists on caring for the life goals of other brethren, with respect to the Community of believers.

In this way, it is called to be a sign of the Father's concern for all his sons.

The leaven is not useful to itself, but to the mass.

Likewise, the Church shall not serve itself; it will not be concerned with its own celebration and development [material, or with a view to proselytism; and so on].

Every Fraternity in Christ is a function of people's lives alone, where and how they are - just as they are.

To internalize and live the message:

What seed had you neglected because of its smallness, and then it turned out to be essential for your growth and the needs of others as well?

Completeness: Duplicity

From the fascinating proposal of Faith to the fatigue of withdrawal

(Mt 13:24-43)

The parable of the Sower as historically narrated by Jesus (vv.3-8) and that of the tares (vv.24-30) denote the total positivity of his Message.

The Lord proclaimed a new world; above all a different, tolerant and benevolent Heaven.

Even vv.18-23 contain a Good News, rather than a judgment: in our field both good wheat and weeds arise spontaneously, but all this is not a curse; on the contrary (v.23c).

It must however be admitted that the metaphor of vv.37-43 transforms the original parable (vv.24-30) into a moral allegory.

With symbolic elements, the different figurative expressions take up the original narrative of Jesus, trying to interpret it according to the common codes of traditional rabbinic preaching.

As for the teachers of Israel, here too the [next] intent is to shake the listeners, in order to emphasize the personal, community and spiritual importance of the fundamental choices - in the present.

At House (v.36), that is, in the Church, a debate is created first of all on the explanation of why Jesus does not impose a preventive sterilization of the wheat field.

In the uncertainty, particular clarifications are attempted - according to which, however, the passage [which is the result of subsequent editing, debate and reflection] risks overturning the meaning of the Jesus parable itself.

Well, in his people of brethren and in society, the Master did not intend to erase a priori the profitable sense of the ineffable and mysterious dynamics of ‘mixing’: reality of this world with full rights.

Such is the essential, universalist Proclamation of the young Rabbi, in spite of the ancient purist clichés.

Legalist religiosity was selective, élitist, conformist; attentive to the maintenance of social hierarchies.

In this way, it constituted a dense-mesh cultural hood, and evaluated in an abstract, preventive mode, what should be considered good or bad for all.

Yet the idea of algid perfection [sterile of life] did not allow the energies of concrete existence to prepare the future and generate the same Novelty of the Spirit.

Christ's encounter with the believer changes everything in his life, certainly - but not from an assumed gradation of values, procedures and pre-written sentences.

In reality one becomes attentive to perceive the eccentricity of the sisters and brothers by the fact that one has experienced the blessing embrace of the Father on his own "defects".

Not for a sense of emotional paternalism, but because not infrequently the resources that solve real problems and activate the Redemption of God come from the whirlwind of precious contradictions and indigences that we have inside.

They make us less one-sided, more flexible and complete. Exceptional, alive; able to rely on the internal world, instead of the external one.

So capable to implement a turning point.

We see it: to make the world grow and reborn from the global crisis, each subject (even institutional) is called to reinvent itself outside of every score already arranged and recognized.

And today perhaps starting from what in the habit of thought was  considered nothing but sin, or annoying dissonance; incompleteness, limit... so on.

Suddenly and blatantly, imbalances and fluctuations make a difference also in terms of quality. They become opportunities not to be missed: an extra gear; spring power, a drive to activate the unprecedented, and open up.

Here is a substantial difference between common religiosity and the life of Faith. The character of Duplicity makes us healthier and more perfect - and God is not biased.

Indeed, in the eyes of the Father it is precisely the unrepeatable uncertainties [not by protocol] that make every one of his sons special, unique.

In short, you grow, get richer, and correspond to your personal Vocation, only by putting into play, integrating and transmuting boundaries - not denying them.

«St Augustine commenting on the parable noted “many are at first tares but then become good grain”, and he added: “if these, when they are wicked, are not endured with patience they would not attain their praiseworthy transformation” (Quaest. septend. in Ev. sec. Matth., 12, 4: PL 35, 1371)»

[Pope Benedict; Angelus July 17, 2011]

[16th Sunday in O.T. (year A)  July 19, 2026]

The Meaning of the Joyful Mystery, and Rebirth – from Shortcomings

(Mt 13:24–43)

    The metaphor that follows the opening parable seeks to emphasise that the presence of ‘evil’ in the world is not to be attributed to a lack of vitality in the Seed, nor to the divine Work.

Jesus overturns the hasty cliché of apostolic morality:

‘Do you want us to go and gather them up? But He declares: No, for in gathering up the weeds you might uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest’ (vv. 28–30).

In his commentary on the Tao Te Ching xxxvi, Master Wang Pi writes: ‘By conforming to the nature of creatures, the best way to avoid future difficulties is to induce them to run spontaneously to their ruin, without subjecting them to punishment’.

Virtues are intertwined with errors, weaknesses and inconsistencies, but from the earliest times in the communities some believers found it difficult to live alongside the different mindsets of their brothers and sisters in Faith – a situation which nevertheless allowed life to flourish.

And it was found that time was the best remedy for the weeds to wither away of their own accord: in the long run, they did not even prove to be weeds; indeed, quite the opposite was often the case.

The parable of the wheat and the tares is meant to help us avoid falling into exclusivism – not for ideological reasons, but for vital ones.

The rough hands of some disciples would uproot the whole tangle of roots intertwined with the earth and with one another.

Premature sorting would ruin everything good in the present, and the future itself.

The observance of the laws of purity had ensured the separation of Judaism from other cultures.

Thus, some converts to Christ the Messiah did not wish to renounce their identifying marks.

Others, such as Paul, taught that impurity should indeed be pursued, but the sinner must be tolerated.

The internal debate raised awareness: in real life, a mixture of things persists – some in harmony with, and [at least at first glance] contrary to, the Word of God.

On the surface, there is a sort of ambitious enemy slumbering within each of us and even within the churches, who at times may seem intent on making us lose sight of the very raison d’être of faith.

Faced with the ambiguity of good and evil – or rather, of ideas about good and evil – some rush to resolve the matter immediately.

They claim to be able to eradicate impropriety once and for all on the basis of opinions, doctrinal and moral preconceptions – which, however, do not look at people and events [except in the usual (rigid) way] .

The Lord’s teaching is a call.

It is not immediately apparent to grasp the multifaceted significance of these preparatory energies, which, from their magma and discord, will give rise to the unexpected harmonies of God’s unforeseeable future.

New opportunities also spring from personal or institutional mediocrity. Indeed, a paradoxical condition of growth and prosperity for the Church, ‘perfect’ insofar as it recognises itself on the Path of conversion to Christ: ‘semper conformanda’.

The uniformity of fundamentalists or purists would desire an external, immediate and decisive justice (in eloquent forms), but only God is able to fathom the depths of events.

Some cling to the certainties of convention, but such patterns immediately stifle the imbalances of chaos that might have borne fruit precisely through those providential novelties: novelties that supplant the stale, reworking and adapting the unexpected [thus resolving the real problems and inspiring dreams of quite different aims – another destiny].

To avoid stifling life in the illusion of ‘non-negotiable’ behaviours and procedures [mostly cultural and religious certainties that are later abandoned], communities must not shut themselves away behind suffocating barriers.

They would be unbearable: their mission is to learn dialogue with differences and to coexist with disparate oppositions, so that life may be enriched through diverse relationships and the concrete exchange of personal gifts, in varied and even discordant contexts.

Such is the added value that opens up the New Life, whilst the myth of infallibility remains confined to sects.

Indeed, it is not uncommon for precisely that side of ourselves which we do not want, which we reject, which we would like to exclude or correct – and which is misjudged by others – to have already revealed itself, or to reveal itself over time, as the best part of us, both from the point of view of the exceptional fulfilment of the personality and of the missionary Call by Name.

Every believer is both ‘ally’ and unfaithful at the same time, but in this friction lie the new sparks [including those of fruitful disappointment] and our fulfilment – traversing the paradoxes of fallibility. As well as uncharted cultural paths, even economic, political and social ones.

The Tao (LVIII) says: ‘When the government meddles in everything, the people are fragmented [!]. Fortune arises from misfortune, misfortune hides within fortune. Who knows its height? He who does not correct. Correction turns into falsehood, good turns into a harbinger of misfortune, and every day the people’s bewilderment grows deeper and more enduring. For this reason, the Holy One is square but does not cut, is uncorrupted but does not wound, is upright but does not flaunt, is luminous but does not dazzle’.

As in the Church, those who face life in the Spirit and wish for their journey to flourish must learn to respect hardships and allow contradictions to coexist within themselves.

To embrace the opposing sides and their own diverse images – which dwell within. And without comment, in a more unhurried manner, with clear perception.

Rejecting, labelling and repressing what we imagine to be ‘flaws’... precludes us from the other horizon – the one that becomes an Ally.

It is the unexpected perspective, which recovers and puts things right; generating knowledge, a full life and rich, unpredictable, awe-inspiring relationships.

This is where Happiness springs forth – when it is not disturbed at the source.

Anxieties, prejudices, reproaches, conventional opinions, expectations, unnatural resolutions, fears, false attitudes of the conformist self (and so on) do not foster growth.

External preconceptions confine and torment us in fideistic, historical, moralistic or performance-based digressions; ultimately confining each of us to a sense of inferiority compared to the models.

Judgements, paradigms, clichéd epithets, intellectual concepts and attitudes all lock us into neuroses, conflicts, anxieties and vicious circles that distort the possibilities of personal discovery – severing the sense of Mystery and the gaze from Elsewhere.

The world of God outside and within us does not thrive on comparisons and judgements of guilt, which hold us back – but (dwelling on ‘shortcomings’) on a Goal that does not wait.

Excessive energy, an indomitable tendency, which surpasses all devout one-sidedness.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you dwell on ‘shortcomings’, or look Elsewhere?

The Church is an imperceptible Beginning, not an extraordinary end

(Mt 13:31–35)

    Jesus helps people to discover the things of God and of man in everyday life.

The Master teaches that the extraordinary nature of the eternal world is hidden in ordinary things: life itself is a transparency of the Mystery.

He reveals the Kingdom that is becoming present, describing precisely the essential characteristics of the community of disciples – and using here the simple comparisons of the ‘mustard seed’ and the ‘yeast’.

That is to say: the authentic Church is within everyone’s reach, everywhere – yet small; unobtrusive, and yet intimately dynamic.

Within it we experience a contrast between beginnings and ends: we experience the Kingdom ‘within’ each person who welcomes the character of a humble Word-event, yet one that activates transformative and hospitable capacities.

The first point of comparison linked to people’s lives [the seed] refers to the story of a very small grain: a concrete, everyday occurrence that goes largely unnoticed.

Around the Sea of Galilee, mustard bushes can reach a maximum height of 3 metres, no more.

This is not the growth of majestic cedars of Lebanon – rather, an ordinary little tree in a home garden (v.32), yet capable of offering a little refreshment to the birds that take refuge there.

It points to a Presence that makes little fuss: entirely ordinary, mingled amongst aubergines, courgettes and cucumbers…

Nothing grand, yet hospitable to those suffering the intense heat of those places.

In short, the communities the Lord dreams of will have nothing magnificent or outwardly impressive, yet they will be able to offer shelter and rest.

The strength of the ‘mustard seed’ is intimate, yet tenacious: it will grow – even if only a little.

In other words, the authentic Church need not resemble a majestic ocean liner.

Perhaps it will be more like a little boat: nothing special – yet it will be able to inspire hope for life.

It will do so through the discreet witness of loving evangelisers, who continue to proclaim and work, radiating light and captivating people.

Anyone approaching the thresholds of the churches – the reference is to those who are distant and non-believers – must feel at ease, as if at home.

Even the ‘wanderers’ will have every right to take their place there and build their nest [in that very Common Home], even if they then decide to take flight again as soon as they have made use of it.

The next comparison – that of ‘leaven’ (v. 33) – emphasises care for the life goals of other brothers and sisters, in relation to the Community of believers.

In this way, it is called to be a sign of the Father’s care for all his children.

Yeast is not useful in itself, but to the dough.

In the same way, the Church must not serve itself; it must not be concerned with its own celebration or development (material, proselytising, and so on).

Every Fraternity in Christ is a function solely of people’s lives, wherever and however they find themselves – just as they are.

To internalise and live out the message:

Which seed did you overlook because of its smallness, and which later proved essential for your growth and the needs of others too?

(Parables: Narratives for transformation)

The mystery of shared blindness. Lost? Ready for transformation

(Mt 13:34-35)

    St Paul expresses the meaning of the ‘mystery of blindness’ that confronts him on his journey with the famous phrase ‘thorn in the side’: wherever he went, enemies were already waiting; and unexpected disagreements.

So it is for us too: calamitous events, catastrophes, emergencies, the disintegration of old, reassuring certainties – all external and murky; until recently regarded as permanent.

Perhaps, in the course of our lives, we have already realised that misunderstandings have been the best ways to reawaken us and introduce the energies of renewed Life.

These are the resources or situations we might never have imagined as allies of our own and others’ fulfilment.

Erich Fromm says:

‘To live means to be born at every moment. Death occurs when one ceases to be born. Birth is therefore not an act; it is an uninterrupted process. The purpose of life is to be born fully, but the tragedy is that most of us die before we are truly born’ .

Indeed, amidst the turmoil or absurd disagreements [that compel us to regenerate], the most neglected inner virtues sometimes emerge.

New energies – seeking space – and external forces. Both malleable; unusual, unimaginable, unorthodox.

But they find the solutions, the true way out of our problems; the path to a future that is not merely a reorganisation of the previous situation, or of how we imagined ‘things ought to have been and done’.

With one cycle concluded, we begin a new phase; perhaps with greater integrity and candour – more luminous and natural, humanising, close to the ‘divine’.

Authentic and engaging contact with our deepest states of being is keenly generated precisely by these detachments.

They lead us into a dynamic dialogue with the eternal reserves of transmuting forces that dwell within us, and belong to us all the more.

A primordial experience that goes straight to the heart.

Within us, this path ‘draws out’ the creative, fluid, unprecedented option.

In this way, the Lord conveys and opens up his proposal by means of ‘images’.

An arrow of Mystery that goes beyond the fragments of consciousness, culture, procedures, and the commonplace.

Towards a knowledge of oneself and the world that transcends that of history and current events; towards an active awareness of other realities.

Until the very turmoil and chaos guide the soul and compel it towards a new beginning, a different perspective (entirely shifted), an unprecedented understanding of ourselves and the world.

Well then, the transformation of the universe cannot be the result of intellectual or authoritarian teaching; rather, of a narrative exploration – one that does not distance people from themselves.

And Jesus knows this.

Completeness, duality:

From the fascinating proposal of Faith to the toil of religious (and moralistic) withdrawal

(Mt 13:36–43)

The parable of the Sower as historically narrated by Jesus (vv. 3–8) and that of the weeds (vv. 24–30) denote the total positivity of his Message.

The Lord proclaimed a new world; above all, a different Heaven, tolerant and benevolent.

The principle of our life as the saved is not what we do for God, but rather what He (Generous and Patient) creates for us.

Just like a condescending and long-suffering Parent, who ceaselessly offers new opportunities for life.

The Master intended to shift the criterion of a pious life: from personal effort to allowing oneself to be saved, yielding one’s own perspective.

Redemption has its roots in His providential initiative, in His gratuitous generosity, in His serene calm.

All conditions that allow each person a process of interactions, assimilations and reworkings: a long period of growth.

But the reflection that followed immediately – just a few decades after the Lord’s death – began to be influenced by the dominant cultural cliché surrounding it, and unfortunately to undermine both its character and its transparency.

The Son proclaimed only the Father’s long-suffering: Subject, Reason and Driving Force of our capacity to undertake every path of blossoming.

In subsequent reflection, the original parables become allegories, overflowing with symbols of a defined moralistic meaning – all in all, banal.

In this way, we find them tinged with impersonal considerations regarding the quality of the soil, or even of the Seed!

The latter – no longer identified with His Word, but rather with a certain zealous type of disciple [of little substance or purpose: those who would always feel surrounded by adversaries].

This ill-fated shift bears witness to the difficulty in understanding the astonishing call of the Son of God, right from the earliest communities.

The Lord intended to suggest to all a path of Faith, precisely to supplant the anxiety-inducing yoke of the religious model – which, conversely, persisted as an attractive archetype of the criteria for discernment.

A heavy yoke, albeit a common one, which did not spring from Love; precisely because it presupposed meanness, inadequacy, and shame everywhere – even in spiritual life [stunted, perpetually precarious, stingy, always insufficient].

We are familiar with such situations.

Instead, even verses 18–23 contain Good News rather than a judgement: in our field both good grain and weeds spring up spontaneously, but this is not a curse in itself; on the contrary (v. 23c).

It must nevertheless be admitted that the metaphor in verses 37–43 transforms the original parable (verses 24–30) into a moral allegory.

The protagonist of the passage [from v.18 and v.36] is no longer God and his generous act, who spares no expense in scattering his seed, but rather the type of soil – or here the new ‘good seed’: the apostle himself – who would become the true ‘subject’ of the spiritual journey.

In this way, one enters the minefield of devotions: it seems that it is the woman and the man—those who actually receive the Word—who must focus on themselves and identify their own faults.

Furthermore – having finally gained awareness, clear understanding, natural ability and even familiarity – they must strive to ‘improve’ according to models, on pain of exclusion from the very ranks of the ‘best’.

[All this leads ordinary people to a depersonalisation of the very nature of the Call, and to a mad expenditure of energy].

The ethical idea – in fact – erases trust. It does not value the driving dynamism of ordinary existence. It always finds before it imperfections and tangles to be unravelled.

It is these, and the thoughts, that obstruct the path. Conversely, to fulfil and complete oneself, such burdens should be placed in the background, cast behind; flown over as one moves forward.

The danger of such an approach is that it will end up piling distinction upon distinction, obsessing people with the idea of an invincible sin. And it will affect the fundamental traits of the personalities of those who take the legalistic path seriously.

Such a disembodied ethic cages the most sensitive – who, unfortunately, gradually exchange their self-awareness for the guilt-tripping of [artificial] myths of perfection.

Except for the indifferent and the opportunists, ‘religion’ taken at face value has always been synonymous with imprisonment.

Indeed, even today it paradoxically makes the judgement that we are still ‘bad seeds’ the central focus of our journey! The opinion of others and the external world.

In addition, there is the torment of still feeling under the shadow of a perpetual ‘sin’: transgression and guilt that the fundamental choice for God was intended to exorcise.

Indeed, superficial judgement is unaware of the diverse and perfectly normal energies of the human being – all malleable and potentially preparatory, to be perceived in their entirety, embraced, and invested in.

Every prejudice, even a sacred one, in reality overlooks the multifaceted nature of the person, and ultimately transforms into that deadly principle of self and others, which, in its proclamations, would never wish to be.

Because of extrinsic or hidden efforts, every external paradigm ends up losing sight of the Way of God’s Newness, its relevance, and the true Vocation – perhaps mistaking them for a burden.

The metaphor (vv. 37–43) is precisely the result of the interpretation of early assemblies still under the influence of the ancient ideal of ‘sterilisation’ and external, formal, apparent ‘coherence’ – ethical rather than relational.

As already mentioned above, even verses 18–23 contain Good News rather than a judgement: in our field, both good grain and weeds spring up spontaneously, but this is not a curse in itself; on the contrary (v. 23c).

It must nevertheless be admitted that the metaphor in verses 37–43 transforms the original parable (verses 24–30) into a moral allegory.

Through symbolic elements, the various figurative expressions take up Jesus’ original narrative, seeking to interpret it according to the common codes of traditional rabbinic preaching.

As with the teachers of Israel, here too the immediate aim is to shake the listeners, in order to emphasise the personal, communal and spiritual importance of decisive choices – in the present day.

Yet in this passage we get the impression that the editors have been carried away by the banal idea of immediate and decisive justice.

Yet haste is always unwelcome in the things of God... [apart from the fact that time is often the remedy that causes useless branches, or many parasitic elements, to wither away of their own accord].

In the House (v.36), that is, in the Church, a debate arises first and foremost over the explanation of why Jesus does not impose a preventive pruning of the wheat field.

In this way, unfortunately opening the door to that ‘purism’ which the Son of God abhorred as harmful.

This, although the evangelist’s attempt to stem defections was understandable – carefully sifting through every attempt to adapt to cultural frameworks and situations.

But by yielding to considerations of effectiveness and context, the central point of the original narrative of the Son of Man – and He Himself – is as it were broken down into schematic elements.

A case study perhaps easier to digest, yet entirely independent of the meaning of the main narrative (vv.18-23).

Finally, with the risk of identifying the Will of God with that of a Church of the elect and the blameless. A community almost situated upstream of any process of growth.

In the face of uncertainty, specific clarifications are attempted here – according to which, however, the passage, the result of redaction, debate and subsequent reflection, risks overturning the very meaning of Jesus’ parable.

Indeed, among his people of brothers and in society, the Master did not intend to dismiss out of hand the fruitful meaning of the ineffable and mysterious dynamics of ‘intermingling’: realities of this world in their own right.

Such was the essential, universalist Proclamation of the young Rabbi; in defiance of ancient purist clichés, or spineless fads.

Legalistic religiosity was selective, elitist, conformist; intent on maintaining social hierarchies.

In this way, it formed a tightly woven cultural cloak, and assessed in an abstract, pre-emptive manner what should be considered good or evil for all.

Yet the idea of a cold perfection [devoid of life] did not allow the preparatory energies of concrete existence to shape the future and generate the very Newness of the Spirit.

Yet (as the passage from Matthew bears witness) immediately after Christ’s death, the conviction of purity and the mindset of distinctions began to creep in once more and take hold.

This was because, externally, the small communities had to confront (head-on) social hierarchies, the religious landscape, moralistic conformism, and the prevailing paradigms of mainstream culture.

In some cases, this situation led to a lack of humanity.

Historically speaking – in the second and third generations of believers, the acceptance of Jesus as Lord of one’s life was perhaps in danger of becoming more binding and identity-defining than a driving force for personal uniqueness – a catalyst for Freedom.

Christ’s encounter with the believer changes everything in their life, certainly – but not on the basis of a pre-established hierarchy of values, procedures and pre-written judgements.

In reality, one becomes attentive to perceiving the eccentricity of one’s brothers and sisters because one has experienced the Father’s blessing embrace upon one’s own ‘flaws’.

Not out of a sense of emotional paternalism, but because it is not uncommon for the resources that resolve real problems and bring about God’s Redemption to spring from the whirlwind of precious contradictions and inner needs we harbour within.

It is precisely these that make us less one-sided, more flexible and complete. Exceptional, alive; capable of trusting in the inner world rather than the outer one.

And thus capable of transformation.

On the other hand, exclusivism – where established morality takes the lion’s share, hand in hand with appearances – has never allowed living Faith to flourish, nor the world.

We see it: to help the world grow and be reborn from the global crisis, every individual [including institutions] is called upon to reinvent themselves outside any pre-established and recognised framework.

And today, perhaps precisely starting from what, in customary thinking, was considered nothing more than a flaw, or an annoying dissonance; incompleteness, limitation… and so on.

Suddenly and quite clearly, imbalances and fluctuations make a difference even in terms of quality.

They become opportunities not to be missed: an extra gear; a wellspring of power, a drive to activate the unprecedented, and to open up.

Herein lies a fundamental difference between common religiosity and the life of Faith.

The nature of Duality makes us healthier and more perfect – and God is not prejudiced.

Indeed, in the Father’s eyes, it is precisely these unrepeatable uncertainties (not those dictated by protocol) that make each of his children special and unique.

In short, we grow, we are enriched and we fulfil our personal vocation only by bringing boundaries into play, integrating them and transforming them – not by denying them.

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

The Gospel parables are brief accounts that Jesus uses to proclaim the mysteries of the Kingdom of Heaven. Using imagery from situations of daily life, the Lord “wants to show us the real ground of all things.... He shows us... the God who acts, who intervenes in our lives, and wants to take us by the hand” (Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration, English edition, Doubleday, 2007, p. 192). 

With this kind of discourse the divine Teacher invites us to recognize first of all the primacy of God the Father: Wherever he is absent, nothing can be good. He is a crucial priority for all things. Kingdom of Heaven means, in fact, lordship of God and this means that his will must be adopted as the guiding criterion of our existence.

The subject of this Sunday's Gospel is, precisely, the Kingdom of Heaven. “Heaven” should not be understood only in the sense that it towers above us, because this infinite space also takes the form of human interiority. Jesus compares the Kingdom of Heaven to a field of wheat to enable us to understand that something small and hidden has been sown within us which, nevertheless, has an irrepressible vital force. In spite of all obstacles, the seed will develop and the fruit will ripen. This fruit will only be good if the terrain of life is cultivated in accordance with the divine will. 

For this reason in the Parable of the Weeds [tares] among the good Wheat (Mt 13:24-30). Jesus warns us that, after the owner had scattered the seed, “while men were sleeping, his enemy” intervened and sowed weeds among the wheat. This means that we must be ready to preserve the grace received from the day of our Baptism, continuing to nourish faith in the Lord that prevents evil from taking root. St Augustine commenting on the parable noted “many are at first tares but then become good grain”, and he added: “if these, when they are wicked, are not endured with patience they would not attain their praiseworthy transformation” (Quaest. septend. in Ev. sec. Matth., 12, 4: PL 35, 1371).

Dear friends, the Book of Wisdom — from which today's First Reading is taken — emphasizes this dimension of the divine Being and states: “Neither is there any god besides you, whose care is for all men.... For your strength is the source of righteousness, and your sovereignty over all causes you to spare all” (Wis 12:13, 16). And Psalm 86 [85] confirms it: “You, O Lord, are good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call on you” (v. 5). 

Hence if we are children of such a great and good Father, let us seek to be like him! This was the aim Jesus set himself with his preaching; indeed, he said to those who were listening to him: “You... must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5:48). Let us turn with trust to Mary, whom we invoked yesterday with the title of Our Lady of Mount Carmel so that she may help us to follow Jesus faithfully, and so live as true children of God.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus, 17 July 2011]

5. One of the parables told by Jesus about the growth of the Kingdom of God on earth reveals to us, in a very realistic way, the nature of the struggle inherent in the Kingdom, due to the presence and action of an ‘enemy’ who ‘sows tares (or weeds) amongst the wheat’. Jesus says that, when ‘the crop had grown and borne fruit, the weeds also appeared’. The servants of the owner of the field would like to pull them up, but the owner does not allow them to do so, ‘lest . . . you uproot the wheat as well. ‘Let both grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers: First gather the weeds and bind them in bundles to be burnt; but gather the wheat into my barn’” (Mt 13:24–30). This parable explains the coexistence and often the intertwining of good and evil in the world, in our lives, and in the very history of the Church. Jesus teaches us to view things with Christian realism and to deal with every problem with clarity of principle, but also with prudence and patience. This presupposes a transcendent vision of history, in which we know that everything belongs to God and every final outcome is the work of his Providence. However, the final fate – of an eschatological nature – of the good and the wicked is not hidden: it is symbolised by the gathering of the wheat into the storehouse and the burning of the weeds.

6. Jesus himself explains the parable of the sower, at the disciples’ request (cf. Mt 13:36–43). His words reveal both the temporal and eschatological dimensions of the Kingdom of God.

He says to his disciples: ‘To you has been entrusted the mystery of the Kingdom of God’ (Mk 4:11). He instructs them on this mystery and, at the same time, through his word and his work, ‘prepares a kingdom for them, just as the Father has prepared it for him (the Son)’ (cf. Lk 22:29). This preparation continued even after his Resurrection: indeed, we read in the Acts of the Apostles that ‘he appeared to them over a period of forty days and spoke about the Kingdom of God’ (cf. Acts 1:3) until the day when ‘he was taken up into heaven and sat at the right hand of God’ (Mk 16:19). These were the final instructions and directives to the Apostles on what they were to do after the Ascension and Pentecost in order to bring about the concrete beginning of the Kingdom of God at the very origins of the Church.

[John Paul II, General Audience, 25 September 1991]

Today’s Gospel reading offers three parables through which Jesus speaks to the crowds about the Kingdom of God. I will focus on the first: that of the good wheat and the weeds, which illustrates the problem of evil in the world and highlights God’s patience (cf. Mt 13:24-30, 36-43). How much patience God has! Each one of us too can say this: “How much patience God has!”. The narrative takes place in a field with two antagonists. On one side is the master of the field, who represents God and who sows good seed; on the other is the enemy, who represents Satan and scatters weeds.

As time passes, the weeds grow among the wheat, and the master and his servants express different opinions regarding this fact. The servants would like to intervene and uproot the weeds; but the master, who is concerned above all with saving the wheat, is against this, saying: “No; lest in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them” (v. 29). With this image, Jesus tells us that in this world good and evil are so intertwined that it is impossible to separate them and eradicate all evil. God alone can do this, and he will do so at the Last Judgment. With its ambiguities and its composite character, the present situation is the field of freedom, the field of Christian freedom, in which the difficult exercise of discernment is made between good and evil.

This field then, involves reconciling, with great trust in God and in his providence, two seemingly contradictory approaches: decision and patience. Decision is that of wanting to be good wheat — we all want this — with all our might, and thus keeping away from the evil one and his seduction. Patience means preferring a Church that acts as leaven in the dough, that is unafraid to sully her hands washing her children’s clothes, rather than a Church of “purists” who presume to judge ahead of time who will be in the Kingdom of God and who will not.

Today the Lord, who is Wisdom incarnate, helps us to understand that good and evil cannot be identified with neatly defined areas or specific human groups: “These are the good, those are the bad”. He tells us that the boundary line between good and evil passes through the heart of each person; it passes through the heart of each of us, that is: We are all sinners. I would like to ask you: “Whoever is not a sinner raise your hand”. No one! Because we are all sinners, all of us are. Jesus Christ, with his death on the Cross and his Resurrection, has freed us from the slavery of sin and given us the grace to journey in a new life; but along with Baptism he also gave us Confession, because we all need to be forgiven for our sins. Looking always and only at the evil that is outside of us means not wanting to recognize the sin that is also inside us. 

Then Jesus teaches us a different way of looking at the field of the world, of observing reality. We are called to learn God’s time — which is not our time — and also God’s “gaze”: thanks to the beneficial influence of uneasy anticipation, what were weeds or seemed to be weeds can become a good product. It is the reality of conversion. It is the prospect of hope!

May the Virgin Mary help us to accept, in the reality that surrounds us, not only filth and evil, but also good and beauty; to unmask the work of Satan, but above all to trust in the action of God who fertilizes history.

[Pope Francis, Angelus, 23 July 2017]

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)   [19 July 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Wisdom (12:3, 16–19)

The Book of Wisdom, written in Greek by a Jew from Alexandria shortly before the coming of Christ, is addressed to people steeped in Greek culture, which exalted intelligence and philosophy as the highest paths to knowledge. The author, however, reminds us that true wisdom belongs to God and that his mysteries are not attained through human knowledge, but are received as a gift and with humility. This is the same truth that Jesus expresses when he points out that the Father reveals his secrets to the little ones rather than to the wise of this world (Mt 11:25, Lk 10:21). The central theme of the text is the relationship between omnipotence and mercy. On the one hand, God is the absolute Lord of the universe: there is no other God; he rules over all things and possesses infinite power. On the other hand, this power is not manifested through violence, but through gentleness and goodness: God cares for all things, judges with leniency, governs with tenderness and, after sin, always offers the possibility of conversion. The author puts forward a surprising idea: God is merciful precisely because he is almighty. Human beings, often insecure about their own authority, feel the need to flaunt their power; God, on the other hand, who possesses all power, has nothing to prove. This is why his power is expressed in patience, forgiveness and tenderness. This image of God is the fruit of a long journey of revelation. Through the prophets, Israel learnt that God is not a tyrannical ruler, but a loving Father. Like Elijah on Mount Horeb, believers discover that God does not reveal himself in the storm or the earthquake, but in the gentle breeze. His strength is unobtrusive yet invincible, for it is the strength of love. This discovery also has implications for humankind. If we are created in God’s image, we are called to imitate his way of acting. Therefore, the righteous do not seek domination or violence, but humanity, compassion and service. Jesus takes up this same teaching when he instructs his disciples that the logic of power must not prevail amongst them, but rather that of the service of love (Mk 9:35; Mt 20:26–27; Mt 23:11; Lk 22:26). In short, God’s greatness does not lie in dominating by force, but in saving through mercy; and his omnipotence is manifested in forbearance, forgiveness and the ability to always offer humankind a new chance. Those who wish to resemble God must make goodness—and not power—the measure of their lives.

Responsorial Psalm (85/86)  

In this psalm, the image of a tender and merciful God emerges, one who reveals his power through mercy. If we read the psalm in the light of the first reading, taken from the Book of Wisdom, we realise that the author marvels at both God’s greatness and his tenderness. One explains the other, for if God is forgiving towards humankind, it is precisely because He is almighty. And this dual emphasis – forgiveness and greatness – recurs in the stanzas of the psalm: the 1st and 3rd stanzas focus on forgiveness; the second stanza is about greatness.  First stanza: ‘You who are good and forgiving, you are full of mercy towards those who call upon you.’  Third stanza: ‘You, Lord, are a merciful and compassionate God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness. Turn to me and have mercy.’  2nd stanza: “Great are You and You work wonders; You alone are God”. In the third stanza, “a merciful and compassionate God” leads us to God’s great revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai (Ex 34:6). It comes at the worst possible moment, immediately after the episode of the golden calf, when Moses, in his anger, had broken the tablets of the Law. The Covenant had been desecrated by the people, who had made themselves an idol. God does not renounce the Covenant: he tells Moses to carve two new stone tablets, upon which he will inscribe the same words. This is a sign of mercy. And it is precisely here that he says: “God, merciful and gracious, slow to anger…”. It is interesting to note Moses’ reaction here (cf. Ex 34:8–9). The author of the psalm reacts just as Moses did: he recalls God’s mercy and ‘takes Him at His word’, imploring Him: ‘You, Lord, God of tenderness and compassion… Turn your gaze upon me and have mercy on me’.  In all our prayers, we too recall his merciful plan for humanity and implore him to hasten its fulfilment (cf. Rom 8:26–27). The parallel with the Book of Exodus continues because, following the revelation and Moses’ response, God establishes a covenant (cf. Ex 34:10). But the psalm adds something new compared with the Book of Exodus, as it was written much later. During the Babylonian exile, Israel became aware of the universal nature of God’s plan—namely, that all nations are called to know him. But how can they come to know him? By discovering God’s work on behalf of his people. The Jewish people do not presume to convert others, but they understand that God’s work on their behalf becomes a means of conversion for other nations: if they open their eyes, they recognise the God of Israel as their Saviour and turn to him. 

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:26–27)

Saint Paul has already said that the life of the baptised is under the influence of the Spirit. He emphasises once again the role of the Holy Spirit (in this chapter he mentions him 18 times). He highlights that the life of the baptised unfolds entirely under his influence, if we allow ourselves to be guided by him. The Spirit dwells within us, and God’s great plan is like the process of childbirth. The labour pains are the prelude to great joy. “I consider that the sufferings of the present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed… We know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth.” And it is the Spirit who guides our prayer, as we read in this very brief text which nevertheless contains an important contrast: on the one hand, in the last verse: ‘it is in accordance with God’s will that the Spirit intercedes for the saints’; on the other: ‘he comes to the aid of our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought’. It teaches us that we pray by entering into God’s will, looking at the world and at ourselves through God’s eyes; rejoicing in the signs—however small—of the Kingdom’s advance, which are brotherhood, sharing, solidarity and respect. We must never lose heart in the face of humanity’s slow progress, for the Spirit blows ceaselessly even if it is not always visible. The reference to the Lord’s Prayer is immediate: ‘Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven’—three expressions that draw us into God’s plans.  We need the help of the Holy Spirit to enlighten our prayer, just as Jesus promised: “I will pray to the Father, and he will give you another Paraclete to be with you for ever” (Jn 14:16). He knows the secrets of God’s plan, as Paul so aptly puts it: “The Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God… We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who comes from God, so that we may know what God has bestowed upon us’ (1 Cor 2:10–12). And the model is Jesus, always guided by the Spirit: his whole life is marked by the fulfilment of the Father’s mission, right up to Gethsemane, when he proclaims, ‘Father, not my will, but yours be done’ (Mark 14:36). And the author of the Letter to the Hebrews sums up his life thus: “Upon entering the world, Christ says… ‘Behold, I have come to do your will, O God’” (Hebrews 10:5, 9).

From the Gospel according to Matthew (13:24–43) 

The parable of the weeds is not primarily intended to explain the origin of evil, although it reaffirms a fundamental principle: God is not the author of evil. As in the account in Genesis, everything God has created is good; the owner of the field sows only good wheat, whilst the weeds are the work of an enemy. In the context of the Gospel of Matthew, however, this parable is linked to that of the sower. Having shown that the proclamation of the Kingdom does not always bear the hoped-for fruit, Jesus addresses a new question: why not immediately remove what stands in the way of good? The servants suggest pulling up the weeds, but the owner forbids this so as not to uproot the wheat as well. Only at harvest time will the separation take place.

The message is clear: it is not for human beings to pass final judgement or to eliminate evil in others; this task belongs to God. Jesus therefore invites us to live with the simultaneous presence of good and evil in the world and within communities, avoiding elitist or fanatical attitudes. Matthew was probably addressing a community tempted to draw a rigid distinction between the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’. At the end of time, God will make the final judgement. The Bible often presents judgement as a separation between the righteous and the wicked, but the reality is deeper: the line separating good from evil runs through the heart of every person. No one is merely righteous or merely holy, but we all carry within us both the good wheat and the weeds. God will not destroy the good along with the evil: he will save that which, in each of us, is capable of bearing fruit. After the parable of the weeds, Jesus tells the parables of the mustard seed and the yeast. Whilst the previous parables highlighted the obstacles to the Kingdom, these reveal its inner strength. What is small and hidden inevitably grows to full realisation: the seed becomes a great tree and the yeast causes the whole dough to rise. Herein lies the central teaching that Jesus sets out in three fundamental attitudes: trust, because the Kingdom of God grows even when we cannot see it; patience, because the harvest will come at the time appointed by God; and humility, because no one can consider themselves entirely righteous or authorised to judge others. God’s patience stems from his desire not to lose even a single good ear of corn amongst the weeds. But above all, it reveals that God never ceases to hope for humanity’s conversion and for the transformation of the ‘tares’ in our hearts into good grain. This is the true meaning of his merciful patience.     

+Giovanni D’Ercole

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (64/65)

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

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

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

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

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

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

+ Giovanni D’Ercole