3. What does Christ say in this regard in the Gospel we have heard today? At the end of the Sermon on the Mount he said: “Everyone who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house upon the rock; and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded upon the rock” (Mt 7:24-25). The opposite of the man who built on the rock is the man who built upon sand. The house he built could not stand. Faced with trials and difficulties, it fell. This is what Christ teaches us.

A house built upon rock. The building that is one’s life. How should it be built so that it does not collapse under the pressure of this world’s events? How should this building be built so that from being an “earthly dwelling” it may become “a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Cor 5:1)? Today we hear the reply to these fundamental questions of faith: at the basis of the Christian building there is the hearing and keeping of the word of Christ. And in speaking of “the word of Christ” we have in mind not only his teaching, the parables and promises, but also his works, the signs, the miracles. And above all his Death, the Resurrection and the Descent of the Holy Spirit. Further still: we have in mind the Son of God himself, the eternal Word of the Father, in the mystery of the Incarnation: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14).

[Pope John Paul II, Biskupia Góra (Pelplin), 6 June 1999]

To base one's life "on the rock of God" and on the "concreteness" of acting and giving oneself, rather than "on appearances or vanity" or on the corrupt culture of "recommendations". This is the indication that Pope Francis suggested - during the Mass celebrated at Santa Marta on Thursday, 6 December - for living the Advent journey coherently.

Simple and challenging guidelines at the same time, which the Pontiff drew from the readings of the day, in which there are three significant groups of opposing words: "saying and doing", "sand and rock", "high and low".

Regarding the first group - "saying and doing" - the Pontiff immediately recalled the words of Matthew's Gospel (7:21): "Not everyone who says to me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of the Father". And he explained: 'One enters the kingdom of heaven, one matures spiritually, one goes forward in the Christian life by doing, not by saying'. In fact, 'saying is a way of believing, but sometimes very superficial, half-way': as when 'I say I am a Christian but I do not do the things of a Christian'. It is a sort of 'making up', because 'just saying, is a trick', it is 'saying without doing'.

Instead, "the proposal of Jesus is concreteness". And so, "when someone approached and asked for advice", he proposed "always concrete things". Moreover, the Pope added, "the works of mercy are concrete". And again: "Jesus did not say: 'But go to your home and think of the poor, think of the prisoners, think of the sick': no. Go: visit them'.

Here is the contrast between doing and saying. Necessary to highlight because 'many times we slip, not only personally but socially, into the culture of saying'. In this regard, Francis pointed to an unfortunately widespread practice, that of the 'culture of recommendations'. It happens, for example, that for a competition at university "one who has almost no merit" is chosen over many good professors; "and if you ask: 'But why this one? And these other good ones?" - 'Because this one was recommended by a cardinal, you know... the big fish...'". This is the Pope's comment: 'I don't want to think bad, but under the table of a recommendation there is always an envelope'. This is just one example of the prevalence of 'saying': 'it's not the merits, it's not the doing that gets you ahead, no: it's the saying. Making up your life'. And it is precisely 'one of the contradictions that today's liturgy teaches us: to do, not to say'. Even, the Pope explained in closing this first part of the reflection, "Jesus advises" to "do without saying: when you give alms, when you pray... secretly, without saying it. Do, not say".

The second comparison refers to an image used by Jesus in the Gospel: 'a wise man builds his house on rock, not on sand'. The parable has its own evidence: 'The sand is not solid. And a storm, winds, rivers, many things, rain bring down a house built on sand. Sand is a weak concreteness'. The Pontiff explained: "Sand is the consequence of saying: I make myself up, as a Christian, I build a life but without foundations. Vanity, vanity is saying many things, or making myself appear without foundation, on sand'. Instead, one must 'build on rock'. In this regard, the Pope invited us to grasp the beauty of the first reading of the day, taken from Isaiah (26:1-6), where we read: "Trust in the Lord always, for the Lord is an eternal rock".

It is a closely related juxtaposition between saying and doing, because "many times, he who trusts in the Lord does not appear, is not successful, is hidden... but is steadfast. He does not have his hope in saying, in vanity, in pride, in the ephemeral powers of life", but he trusts in the Lord, "the rock". Francis explained: 'The concreteness of the Christian life makes us go forward and build on that rock which is God, which is Jesus; on the solidity of divinity. Not on appearances or vanity, pride, recommendations.... No. Truth."

Finally the "third group", where the concepts of "high and low" are confronted. It is again the passage from Isaiah that guides the meditation: "Trust in the Lord always, for the Lord is an everlasting rock, for he has brought down those who dwell on high, he has overthrown the lofty city, he has razed it to the ground. The feet trample it down: they are the feet of the oppressed, the footsteps of the poor'. It is a passage, the Pontiff noted, that recalls the 'song of Our Lady, of the Magnificat: the Lord raises up the humble, those who are in the concreteness of every day, and brings down the proud, those who have built their lives on vanity, pride... these do not last'. And the expression, Francis emphasised, "is very strong, even in the Magnificat we use 'has overthrown', and even stronger: that great beautiful city is trampled underfoot. By whom? By the feet of the oppressed and the steps of the poor". That is, the Lord 'exalts the poor, exalts the lowly'.

The category of 'high and low', the Pope added in comment, is also used by Jesus, for example, when he 'speaks of Satan: "I have seen Satan fall from heaven". And it is the expression of a "definitive judgement on the proud, on the vain, on those who boast of being something but are pure air".

Concluding his homily, Francis invited us to accompany the Advent season with reflection on "these three groups of words that contrast one with the other. Say or do? Am I a Christian of saying or doing? Sand and rock: do I build my life on the rock of God or on the sand of worldliness, of vanity? High and low: am I humble, do I always try to go from the bottom, without pride, and thus serve the Lord?". It will help to answer such questions; and, he added, also to take the Gospel of Luke and pray "with Our Lady's song, with the Magnificat, which is a summary of this message today."

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 6 December 2018]

First Sunday of Advent (year A)  [30 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! Advent marks the beginning of a new liturgical year (Year A), accompanied by the evangelist Matthew, who invites us to become collaborators in the plan of salvation that God has ordained for the Church and the world. A small change: from now on, I will also offer a summary of the main elements of each text.

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (2:1-5) 

 We know that biblical authors love images! Here are two beautiful ones in Isaiah's preaching: first, that of a huge crowd on the move, then that of all the armies of the world deciding to turn their weapons into agricultural tools. Let us look at these images one after the other. The crowd on the move climbs a mountain: at the end of the journey is Jerusalem and the Temple. Isaiah, on the other hand, is already in Jerusalem and sees this crowd arriving, a veritable human tide. It is, of course, an image, an anticipation, probably inspired by the great pilgrimages of the Israelites to Jerusalem during the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot). On this occasion, for eight days, people live in huts, even in the city, remembering their stay in the desert during the Exodus. All the Jewish communities flock there, and Deuteronomy invites them to participate with joy, even with their children, servants, foreigners, orphans, and widows (Dt 16:14-15). The prophet Isaiah, observing this extraordinary annual gathering, foresaw a future one and, inspired by the Holy Spirit, announced that one day not only Israel but all nations would participate in this pilgrimage and the Temple would become the gathering place for all peoples, because the whole of humanity would know the love of God. The text intertwines Israel and the nations: "The mountain of the Lord's temple will be raised above the hills... and all nations will flock to it." This influx symbolises the entry of other nations into the Covenant. The law will come forth from Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem: Israel is chosen by God, but it also has a responsibility to collaborate in the inclusion of the nations in the divine plan. Thus, the Covenant has a dual dimension: particular (Israel chosen) and universal (all nations). The entry of the nations into the Temple does not concern sacrifice, but listening to the Word of God and living according to His Law: "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord ... that He may teach us His ways and we may walk in His paths." The second image shows the fruit of this obedience: the nations will live in peace, God will be judge and arbiter, and weapons will be transformed into tools of labour: They will forge their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. They will no longer raise the sword against a people. Finally, Isaiah invites Israel to walk in the light of the Lord, to fulfil its vocation and to lead everyone towards the Light: going up to the Temple means celebrating the Covenant, walking in the light means living according to the Law.

In summary, here are all the main elements of the text: 

+Two symbolic images from Isaiah: the crowd on pilgrimage and the transformation of weapons into instruments of peace.

+Jerusalem and the Temple: destination of the pilgrimage, symbol of God's presence and centre of the Covenant.

+Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot): historical reference to the annual pilgrimage of the Israelites.

+Universality of salvation: Israel, the chosen people, guides all nations, which will be included in the Covenant.

+Dimension of the Covenant: particular (Israel) and universal (all nations).

+Listening to the Word and living according to the Law: participation is not only ritual, but a concrete commitment to life.

+Peace and transformation of weapons: symbol of the realisation of God's plan of justice and harmony.

+Final invitation: Israel must walk in the light of the Lord and lead humanity to God.

+Prophecy as promise, not prediction: prophets speak of God's will, not of the future in a divinatory sense.

Responsorial Psalm (121/122, 1-9)

Here we have the best possible translation of the Hebrew word "Shalom": "Peace to those who love you! May peace reign within your walls, happiness in your palaces...". When you greet someone with this term, you wish them all this. Here this wish is addressed to Jerusalem: 'Pray for the peace of Jerusalem... For my brothers and my friends, I will say: Peace be upon you! For the house of the Lord our God, I will pray for your good'. The very name Jerusalem contains the word shalom; it is, should be, and will be the city of peace. However, this wish for peace and happiness is still far from being realised. The history of Jerusalem is turbulent: around 1000 BC, it was a small village called Jebus, inhabited by the Jebusites. David chose this place as the capital of his kingdom: initially, the capital was Hebron, and David was king only of the tribe of Judah; then, with the accession of the other tribes, Jebus was chosen, which became Jerusalem, 'the city of David'. Here David transferred the Ark of the Covenant and purchased Araunah's field for the Temple, following God's will. The definition of Jerusalem as a 'holy city' means that it belongs to God: it is the place where one must live according to God. With David and Solomon, the city reached its cultural and spiritual splendour and became the centre of religious life with the Temple, a destination for pilgrimages three times a year, particularly for the Feast of Tabernacles. The prophet Nathan reminds David that God is more interested in the people than in the Temple: "You want to build a house for God, but it is God who will build a house for you (descendants)". Thus God promises to preserve David's descendants forever, from whom the Messiah will come. In the end, it was Solomon who built the Temple, making Jerusalem the centre of worship. The city then underwent destruction and reconstruction: the conquest by Nebuchadnezzar in 587 BC, the Exile to Babylon, the return authorised by Cyrus in 538 BC and the reconstruction of Solomon's Temple. Even after the persecutions of Antiochus Epiphanes and the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, Jerusalem remained the holy city, symbol of God's presence, and the hope of its full restoration remained alive. Believers, wherever they were, continued to turn to Jerusalem in their daily prayers, remembering God's faithfulness to the promises made to David. Psalm 121/122, a pilgrimage song, celebrated this centrality of Jerusalem, inviting the faithful to ascend to the house of the Lord and walk in God's light.

Summary of main points

+Shalom and Jerusalem: Shalom means peace and happiness; Jerusalem is the city of peace.

+History of the city: from Jebus to David's capital, transfer of the Ark, construction of the Temple.

+Holy city: belongs to God; living in Jerusalem means living according to God.

+Nathan and the descendants of David: God more interested in the people than in the Temple; promise of the Messiah.

+Pilgrimages and religious life: Jerusalem as a centre of worship with pilgrimages three times a year.

+Destruction and reconstruction: Nebuchadnezzar, Exile, Cyrus, persecutions by Antiochus, destruction of the Temple in 70 AD.

+Hope and faith: Jerusalem remains a symbol of God's faithfulness; the faithful pray facing towards it.

+Psalm 121/122: a song of pilgrimage, inviting us to ascend to the house of the Lord and walk in divine light.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (13:11-14)

In this text, Saint Paul develops the classic contrast between 'light and darkness'.  'Our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed'. This sentence remains true! One of the articles of the Catholic faith is that history is not a continuous repetition, but on the contrary, God's plan advances inexorably. Every day we can say that God's providential plan is further ahead than yesterday: it is being fulfilled, it is progressing... slowly but surely. To forget to proclaim this is to forget an essential point of the Christian faith. Christians have no right to be sad, because every day 'salvation is nearer', as Paul says. This providential and merciful plan of God needs us: this is no time to sleep. Those who know God's plan cannot risk delaying it. As the Second Letter of Peter says: "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise... but is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance" (2 Pet 3:9). Our inactivity, our "sleep" has consequences for the fulfilment of God's plan; leaving our abilities dormant means compromising it or at least delaying it. That is why sins of omission are serious. Paul says, 'The night is far gone, the day is at hand'; and elsewhere he speaks of a short time, using a nautical term: the ship has set sail and is approaching the port (1 Cor 7:26, 29). It may seem presumptuous to think that our conduct affects God's plan, but this is precisely the value and seriousness of our life. Paul reminds us: 'Let us behave honourably, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in quarrelling and jealousy'. There are behaviours of light and darkness when the baptised person does not live according to the Gospel. Paul does not only tell us to choose the works of light, but to reject those of darkness, always fighting for the light. This means two things: every day we must choose the light, a real struggle, especially in the face of anthropological and social challenges, forgiveness, and the rejection of compromises and privileges (cf. Phil 2:12). Elsewhere, St Paul also speaks of the armour of righteousness, the breastplate of faith and love, and the helmet of the hope of salvation (cf. 2 Cor 6:7; 1 Thess 5:8). Here, the garment of light is Jesus Christ himself, whose light envelops us like a cloak. In baptism, immersion symbolises death to sin and being clothed in Christ (Gal 3:27). The Christian struggle is not ours alone, but it is Christ who fights in us and promises us that when we are persecuted, we must not prepare ourselves because it is he who speaks to us and gives us wisdom that no one can oppose.

Summary of the main points

+Salvation is ever closer: history is not a cycle, but a progression of God's plan.

+Believers cannot be passive: our inactivity delays the fulfilment of God's plan, and sins of omission are serious because we must carry out God's plan every day.

+There are activities of light and darkness: Christian and non-Christian behaviours that do not always coincide with faith or baptism.

+The Christian struggle is daily: choosing light, forgiveness, rejecting compromise and immorality.

+The image of the robe of light represents Jesus Christ who envelops us and guides our lives. Baptism symbolises being clothed in Christ and the beginning of the struggle of light.

+The Christian's strength is not only his own: Christ fights in us, guaranteeing wisdom and words against persecution.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (24:37-44)

One thing is certain: this text was not written to frighten us, but to enlighten us. Texts like this are called apocalyptic, which literally means 'lifting a corner of the veil': they reveal reality. And the reality, the only one that matters, is the coming of Christ. Notice the language: coming, advent, always referring to Jesus: Jesus spoke to his disciples about his coming, which will be like in the days of Noah. You also do not know the day when the Lord will come, because it will be at the hour when you do not expect it. The heart of the message is therefore the announcement that Jesus Christ will come. Curiously, Jesus speaks in the future tense: 'Your Lord will come'. It would be more logical to speak in the past tense because Jesus had already come... This shows us that the 'coming' is not the birth, but something that concerns the fulfilment of God's plan. Very often we are disturbed by images of judgement, such as the comparison with the flood: "Two men will be in the field, one will be taken away and the other left." This is not divine arbitrariness, but an invitation to trust: just as Noah was found righteous and saved, so everything that is righteous will be saved. Judgement distinguishes the good from the bad, the wheat from the chaff, and this takes place in the heart of each person. Jesus uses the title Son of Man to speak of himself, but not only of himself as an individual: he takes up the vision of the prophet Daniel, in which the 'Son of Man' also represents the people of the saints, a collective being. Thus, the coming of Christ concerns the whole of humanity. As St Paul says, Christ is the head and we are the members; St Augustine speaks of the total Christ: head in heaven, members on earth. When we say in prayer that we await the good that God promises us, that is, the coming of Jesus Christ, we are referring to the total Christ: the man Jesus has already come, but the total Christ is in continuous growth and fulfilment. St Paul and, more recently, Teilhard de Chardin emphasise that the whole of creation groans in expectation of the fulfilment of Christ, which is progressively completed in history and in each one of us. When Jesus invites us to watch, it is an invitation to safeguard God's great plan, dedicating our lives to advancing it. Finally, this discourse takes place shortly before the Passion: Jesus warns of the destruction of the Temple, the symbol of his presence and of the Covenant, but does not answer specific questions about the end of the world; instead, he invites vigilance, reassuring his disciples in the face of trials.

Summary of the main points

+Purpose of the text: not to frighten, but to enlighten; to reveal the reality of Christ's coming.

+Christ's coming: Jesus speaks in the future tense because the complete coming concerns Christ as a whole, not just the historical birth of Jesus.

+Judgement and justice: distinguishing good from evil takes place in the heart of each person; the righteous will be saved.

+Title Son of Man: refers not only to Jesus, but to the people of the saints, that is, saved humanity. Christ in his entirety: Christ as the head and believers as members; fulfilment is progressive throughout history.

+Watchfulness and vigilance: the disciples are called to guard God's plan and dedicate their lives to its fulfilment.

+Temple and passion: the discourse precedes the Passion, announces the destruction of the Temple and invites the disciples to trust despite the trials they will have to endure.

Multiplication by Division, in itinerancy

(Mt 15:29-37)

«Man is a limited being who is himself limitless» (Fratelli Tutti n.150).

The Son reflects God's plan in compassion for the needy crowds (v.32).

However, His solution does not fly over us simply drying tears or erasing humiliations.

He invites us to use what we have, although it may seem ridiculous. But teaches that shifting energies creates prodigious results.

This is how we respond in Christ to the world's great problems: by recovering the condition of the 'viator' man - a being of passage, his essential mark - and sharing goods.

Our real nakedness, the vicissitudes and experiences of our many brothers and sisters, who are different, are resources not to be evaluated with distrust, «as competitors or dangerous enemies» of our realisation (FT n.151).

Not only will the little we take with us be enough to satiate us, but it will advance for others and with identical fullness of truth, human, epochal (vv.34.37).

In Mt Jesus is the new Moses who ascends 'the Mount', but to inaugurate an alternative Time, which marks true history; of authentic relationships.

People no longer stay at the bottom of the valley waiting: they gather around Him, coming as they are, with the burden of so many different needs.

The new people of God are not a settled crowd, of the elect, of chosen, and pure.

Everyone brings with them their own path, their own troubles and problems, which the Lord cures - healing not with a solution from above or from without.

In short: another world is possible, but only through breaking one's own [even miserable] 'bread'.

Wise, unbroken, effective solution... if one brings it out from 'within', and on the way - and standing «in the midst» - not in front, not at the head, not “above” (v.36).

The place of God's revelation was to be that of lightning, on a 'mountain' steaming like a furnace (Ex 19:18)... but finally even Elijah's violent zeal had to change mind (1 Kings 19:12).

Even to the pagans, the Son reveals a Father who does not simply erase infirmities, but makes them understood as a place that is preparing personal development, and that of the Community.

It was imagined that in the time of the Messiah, the lame, the deaf and the blind would disappear (Is 35:5ff.). «Golden age»: everything at the top, no abyss.

In Jesus - distributed Bread - an unusual fullness of time is manifested, seemingly nebulous and fragile, but concrete and able to reboot people and relationships.

The Incarnation reweaves our hearts, in dignity and promotion; and it truly unfolds, because it not only drags obstacles away, but builds on them.

And it doesn't erase them at all: it surpasses them, but transmutes them - bringing new life.

Lymph that draws juice and sprouts Flowers from the one muddy, fertile soil, and communicates them.

Solidarity to whom everyone is invited, not only those considered in a condition of perfection and compactness.

Our shortcomings make us attentive, and unique. They are not to be despised, but assumed; they are to be placed in the Son's hands and energised (v.36).

Falls themselves can be a valuable sign: in Christ, they are no longer reductive humiliations, but path markers.

Perhaps we are not utilising and investing our resources in the best possible way.

So slumps can quickly turn into [different, unpackaged] upturns.

[Wednesday 1st wk. in Advent, December 3, 2025]

The simple Mystery (Eucharistic)

(Mt 15:29-37)

«Man is a limited being who is himself limitless» (Fratelli Tutti [Brethren All] n.150).

In our hearts we have a great longing for fulfilment and Happiness. The Father has introduced it, He Himself satisfies it - but He wants us to be associated with His work - inside and outside.

The Son reflects God's plan in his compassion for the crowds in need of everything (vv.30.32) and - despite the plethora of teachers and experts - lacking any authentic teaching [cf. Mt 9:36. 14:14].

His solution is very different from that of all "spiritual" guides, because he does not overlook us with an indirect paternalism [cf. Mt 14:16] that would dry tears, heal wounds, erase humiliations.

It invites us to make use of what we are and have, even though it may seem ridiculous. But it teaches in an absolutely clear way that by shifting energies, prodigious results are achieved.

This is how we respond in Christ to the world's great problems: by recovering the condition of the 'viator' man - a being of passage, his essential mark - and by sharing goods; not letting everyone make do [cf. Mt 14:15].

Our real nakedness, the vicissitudes and experience of our many brothers and sisters, who are different, are resources not to be evaluated with distrust, "as dangerous competitors or enemies" of our fulfilment (FT no.152).

Not only will the little we bring be enough to satiate us: it will advance for others and with identical fullness of truth, human, epochal [vv.34.37: the passage insists on the Semitic symbolism of the number 'seven'].

In Mt Jesus is the new Moses who ascends 'the mountain' of authentic relationships - to inaugurate an alternative Time, which marks true history.

People no longer stay at the bottom of the mountain waiting: they gather around Him, coming as they are, with the burden of so many different needs.

The new people of God are not a settled crowd, of the elect, chosen and pure.

Each one brings with him his own path, his own troubles and problems, which the Lord heals - healing not with a solution from above or from without.

In short: another world is possible, but through breaking one's own [even miserable] 'bread'.

A wise, unbroken, effective solution, if one brings it forth from 'within', on the way, and standing in the middle - not in front, not at the top (v.36).

The place of God's revelation was supposed to be the place of lightning, on a 'mountain' smoking like a furnace (Ex 19:18)... but finally even Elijah's violent zeal had to recant (1 Kings 19:12).

Even to the pagans, the Son reveals a Father who does not simply erase infirmities: he makes them understood as a place that is preparing a personal development, and that of the Community.

He imagined that in the time of the Messiah, the lame, the deaf and the blind would disappear (Is 35:5ff.). "Golden age": everything at the top, no abyss.

In Jesus - distributed Bread - an unusual fullness of times is manifested, apparently nebulous and fragile, but real and capable of restarting people and relationships.

The Spirit of God acts not by descending like a thunderbolt from above, but by activating in us capacities that appear intangible, yet are capable of regrouping our dispersed being, classified as insubstantial - involving the everyday summary - and re-evaluating it.

The Incarnation reweaves our hearts, in dignity and promotion; it truly unfolds, because it not only drags obstacles away, but rests on them.

And it does not erase them at all: thus it overpowers them, but transmutes - posing new life.

Lymph that draws juice and sprouts Flowers from the one muddy, fertile soil, and communicates them.

Solidarity to which all are invited, not just those deemed to be in a state of perfection and compactness.

Our shortcomings make us attentive, and unique. They are not to be despised, but taken up, placed in the Son's hands and energised (v.36).

Falls themselves can be a valuable sign: in Christ, they are no longer reductive humiliations, but rather path markers.

Perhaps we are not making the best use and investment of our resources.

Thus, collapses can quickly turn into rises - different, not packaged - and a search for total completion in Communion.

Therefore, in the ideal of realising the Vocation and sensing the type of contribution to be made, nothing is better than a living environment that does not clip the wings: a lively fraternity in exchange and coexistence.

Not so much to dampen our jolts, but so that we are enabled to build stores of wisdom not calibrated by nomenclature - which everyone can draw on, even those who are different and far from us.

If a shortcoming is found here too, it will be to teach us to be present in the world in perhaps other and further directions, or to bring out mission and creative maturity - not to remain fixated on partiality and minutiae.The allusion to the seven loaves multiplied because they are divided supports the quotations on the malleable magma of biblical icons.

Here Moses and Elijah on "the Mount": figures from the 'five Books' of the Pentateuch [the First Foods], plus the 'two' sections of Prophets and Writings.

All together 'seven loaves': fullness of food and wisdom for the soul, called to proceed beyond the surrounding hedgerows, breaking the banks of the subjugated mentality.

It is the nourishment-basis of the human-divine spirit, to which, however, is added a young and fresh 'companion' food that precisely involves us (v.34).

[As St Augustine said: "The Word of God that is daily explained to you and in a certain sense 'broken' is also daily Bread" (Sermo 58, IV: PL 38, 395)].

Complete food: basic food and indeed companion food - historical and ideal, in code and in deed.

Here we become in Christ as an actualised and propulsive corpus of sensitive witnesses (and Scriptures!).

Certainly reduced, not yet affirmed - and lacking in heroic phenomena, but emphatically sapiential and practical.

Announcers and sharers, without resounding proclamations of self-sufficiency.

Never enclosed within archaic fences: always in fieri - therefore able to perceive unknown tracks.

And to 'break the Bread'... that is to say, to be active, to go further, to share the little - to nourish, to overflow [multiplying God's listening and action] and to make even the desperate regain esteem.

We are children: like few and little fish (v.34), but not wallowing in competitions that make life toxic.

On the contrary: called in the first person to write a singular, empathetic and sacred 'Word-event'.

'Infants' in the Lord, we swim in this different Water. Sometimes perhaps outwardly veiled or muddy and murky....

Finally made transparent if only because it is yielding, compassionate (v.32) and benevolent.

The old exclusive puddle of religion that does not dare the risk of Faith (v.33) would not have helped us to assimilate the proposal of Jesus the Messiah, Son of God, Saviour - acrostic of the Greek word 'Ichtys' [fish].

He is the Father's Initiative-Response, support in the unethereal Journey in search of the Hope of the poor - of all of us 'destitute waiting'.

The working Faith thus has as its emblem the Eucharist, Revolution of sacredness. It seems strange, for those of us who have grown accustomed to it.

In fact, the purpose of evangelisation is to participate in and emancipate the complete being from all that threatens it, not only in its extreme limitation: also in its everyday actions - to the point of seeking the 'communion' of goods.

In Mk (7:31-37) the prodigy is placed after the opening of the "senses". Here after the healings by the Lake of Galilee (vv.29-31).

The Source and Summit Sign of the community of sons is a 'creative' gesture that imposes a shift of vision, an absolutely new eye.

Faced with the destitution of the many - caused by the greed of the few - the attitude of the authentic Church does not take pleasure in emblems and fervour, nor in partial calls to distinguish itself in almsgiving.

The breaking of the Bread takes over from the Manna dropped from above in the desert (Mt 15:33) and involves its distribution - not only in special situations.

There is no settling, in multiplying life for all.

This is the attitude of the living Body of the thaumaturgic Christ [not the miracle-worker] who feels called to be active in all circumstances.

In this way, if Eucharistic participation does not only provoke punctual almsgiving, external pietism and mannerist welfarism, here is the Result:

Women and men will eat, remain full, and there will be food left over for others (not all of God's intended guests are still present...).

We note that it had not even occurred to the disciples that the solution might come from the people themselves and their spirit.

Not just from the paternalism of the leaders, or from some individual benefactor.

Unexpected solution. To reiterate: the issue of food is solved not from above, but from within the people and with the few loaves of bread they bring.

There is no solution with the verb 'multiply' - i.e. 'increase'... relationships that count, increase property, pile up wiles.

The only therapy is 'to break', 'to give', 'to offer' (v.36). And everyone is involved, no one privileged.

At that time, competitiveness and class mentality characterised the society of the empire - and began to infiltrate even the small community, just starting out.

As if the Lord and the God of retribution could live side by side, yet.

It is the communion of the needy that conversely rises to the top, in the non-artisanal Church.

Real sharing acts as the professor of the ubiquitous directors and princes, who are sanctimonious and pretentious, the only ones yet to be converted.

The germ of their 'durability' should be not the position in the quota and the role, but love.

Such is the only meaning of sacred gestures; not other projects tinged with prevarication, or appearance.

The 'belonging' astound.

For the Lord, the distant - though still poised in their choices - are full participants in the messianic banquet; without preclusions, nor disciplines of the arcane with nerve-racking expectations.

Conversely, that Canteen presses in favour of others who have yet to be called. For a kind of re-establishment of the original Unity.

In short, the Redemption does not belong to elites concerned about the stability of their rule - which it is even the weak who must sustain.

In short, the saved life comes to us by Incorporation.

To internalise and live the message:

Have you ever broken your bread, conveyed happiness and made recoveries that renew relationships, putting people who do not even have self-esteem back on their feet? Or have you favoured disinterest, chains, and elite attitudes?

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

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

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

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 3 July 2011]

Along with physical hunger man has within him another hunger, a more basic hunger, which cannot be satisfied by ordinary food. It is a hunger for life, a hunger for eternity. The sign of the manna was the proclamation of the coming of Christ who was to satisfy man's hunger for eternity by himself becoming the "living bread" which "gives life to the world". And see: those who heard Jesus ask him to fulfil what had been proclaimed by the sign of the manna, perhaps without being conscious of how far their request would go: "Lord, give us this bread always" (Jn 6:34). How eloquent is this request! How generous and how amazing is its fulfilment. "I am the bread of life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst... For my flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him" (Jn 6:35,55-56). "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day' (Jn 6:54).

What a great dignity has been bestowed on us! The Son of God gives himself to us in the Most Holy Sacrament of his Body and Blood. How infinitely great is God's generosity! He responds to our deepest desires, which are not only desires for earthly bread, but extend to the horizons of life eternal. This is the great mystery of faith!

[Pope John Paul II, homily in Wroclaw 31 May 1997]

And thus, with simplicity, Jesus gives us the greatest sacrament. His is a humble gesture of giving, a gesture of sharing. At the culmination of his life, he does not distribute an abundance of bread to feed the multitudes, but breaks himself apart at the Passover supper with the disciples. In this way Jesus shows us that the aim of life lies in self-giving, that the greatest thing is to serve. And today once more we find the greatness of God in a piece of Bread, in a fragility that overflows with love, that overflows with sharing. Fragility is precisely the word I would like to underscore. Jesus becomes fragile like the bread that is broken and crumbled. But his strength lies precisely therein, in his fragility. In the Eucharist fragility is strength: the strength of the love that becomes small so it can be welcomed and not feared; the strength of the love that is broken and shared so as to nourish and give life; the strength of the love that is split apart so as to join all of us in unity.

And there is another strength that stands out in the fragility of the Eucharist: the strength to love those who make mistakes. It is on the night he is betrayed that Jesus gives us the Bread of Life. He gives us the greatest gift while he feels the deepest abyss in his heart: the disciple who eats with Him, who dips the morsel in the same plate, is betraying Him. And betrayal is the worst suffering for one who loves. And what does Jesus do? He reacts to the evil with a greater good. He responds to Judas’ ‘no’ with the ‘yes’ of mercy. He does not punish the sinner, but rather gives His life for him; He pays for him. When we receive the Eucharist, Jesus does the same with us: he knows us; he knows we are sinners; and he knows we make many mistakes, but he does not give up on joining his life to ours. He knows that we need it, because the Eucharist is not the reward of saints, no, it is the Bread of sinners. This is why he exhorts us: “Do not be afraid! Take and eat”. 

Each time we receive the Bread of Life, Jesus comes to give new meaning to our fragilities. He reminds us that in his eyes we are more precious than we think. He tells us he is pleased if we share our fragilities with him. He repeats to us that his mercy is not afraid of our miseries. The mercy of Jesus is not afraid of our miseries. And above all he heals us from those fragilities that we cannot heal on our own, with love. What fragilities? Let’s think. That of feeling resentment toward those who have done us harm — we cannot heal from this on our own; that of distancing ourselves from others and closing off within ourselves — we cannot heal from that on our own; that of feeling sorry for ourselves and complaining without finding peace; from this too, we cannot heal on our own. It is He who heals us with his presence, with his bread, with the Eucharist. The Eucharist is an effective medicine for these closures. The Bread of Life, in fact, heals rigidity and transforms it into docility. The Eucharist heals because it unites with Jesus: it makes us assimilate his way of living, his ability to break himself apart and give himself to brothers and sisters, to respond to evil with good. He gives us the courage to go outside of ourselves and bend down with love toward the fragility of others. As God does with us. This is the logic of the Eucharist: we receive Jesus who loves us and heals our fragilities in order to love others and help them in their fragilities; and this lasts our entire life. In the Liturgy of the Hours today, we prayed a hymn: four verses that are the summary of Jesus’ entire life. And they tell us this: as Jesus was born, he became our travelling companion in life. Then, at the supper he gave himself as food. Then, on the cross, in his death, he became the “price”; he paid for us. And now, as he reigns in Heaven he is our reward; we go to seek the One who awaits us [cf. Hymn at Lauds on Corpus Christi, Verbum Supernum Prodiens].

May the Blessed Virgin, in whom God became flesh, help us to embrace the Eucharist with a grateful heart and to make a gift of our life too. May the Eucharist make us a gift for all others.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 6 June 2021]

Solemnity of Christ the King of the Universe [23 November 2025]

May God bless us and may the Virgin protect us. We close the liturgical year C with grateful hearts as we prepare to resume our journey with Advent.

*First Reading from the Second Book of Samuel (5:1-3)

These are the first steps of the monarchy in Israel. It all begins in Hebron, an ancient city in the mountains of Judea, where the patriarchs of Israel rest: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, and even Joseph, whose bones were brought back from Egypt. It is a place steeped in memory and faith, and it is here that David becomes king of all the twelve tribes of Israel. After the death of Moses, around 1200 BC, the people of Israel settled in Palestine. The tribes lived independently, united only by the memory of their liberation from Egypt and their faith in their one God. In times of danger, God raised up temporary leaders, the Judges, who guided the people and often also acted as prophets. One of these was Samuel, a great man of God. Over time, however, the Israelites wanted to be 'like other peoples' and asked Samuel for a king. The prophet was troubled by this, because Israel was to recognise only God as King, but in the end, on God's command, he consecrated Saul, the first king of Israel. After a promising start, Saul fell into disobedience and madness, and God chose another man: David, the young shepherd from Bethlehem, on whom Samuel poured the oil of anointing. David did not immediately take power: he served Saul faithfully, became his musician and valiant warrior, loved by the people and bound by deep friendship to Jonathan, Saul's son. But the king's jealousy turned to hatred, and David was forced to flee, while always refusing to raise his hand against 'the Lord's anointed'. After Saul's death, Israel was divided: David reigned in Hebron over the tribe of Judah, while in the north, one of Saul's sons reigned for a short time. When the latter was killed, the northern tribes gathered at Hebron and recognised David as their king. On that day, the united kingdom of Israel was born: twelve tribes under one shepherd, chosen by God and recognised by his brothers. The anointing with sacred oil made David the 'Messiah', that is, the 'anointed one of the Lord'. He was to be a king after God's own heart, a shepherd who would lead his people towards unity and peace. But history showed how difficult it was to realise this ideal. Nevertheless, hope did not die: Israel always waited for the true Messiah, the descendant of David who would establish an eternal kingdom. And a thousand years later, Jesus Christ, called "Son of David," presented himself as the Good Shepherd, the one who offers his life for his flock. Every Sunday, in the Eucharist, he renews his covenant and tells us: "You are of my own blood."

*Responsorial Psalm (121/122:1-2, 3-4, 5-6a, 7a)

"What joy when they said to me, 'We will go to the house of the Lord'." A pilgrim recounts his emotion: after a long journey, his feet finally stop at the gates of Jerusalem. We are in the time of the return from Babylonian exile: the city has been rebuilt, the Temple restored (around 515 BC), and the people find in the house of the Lord the living sign of the Covenant. Before the resurrected city, the pilgrim exclaims: Jerusalem, here you are within your walls, a compact city, where everything together forms one body! Jerusalem is not only a geographical location: it is the heart of God's people, a symbol of unity and communion. Every stone, every wall reminds us that Israel is a people gathered together by a single promise and a common destiny. God himself wanted Israel to make an annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem, so that the common journey and shared effort would keep the bond of the Covenant alive. This is why the Psalm proclaims: "There the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord... to praise the name of the Lord." The verb "to go up" indicates both the elevated position of the city and the spiritual ascent of the people towards their liberating God, the same God who brought them up, that is, out of Egypt. The phrase 'the tribes of the Lord' recalls the mutual belonging of the Covenant: 'You shall be my people, and I will be your God.' The pilgrimage, made on foot, amid fatigue, thirst and songs, is a journey of faith and fraternity. When the pilgrim exclaims, 'Now our journey is over!', he expresses the joy of one who has reached not only a geographical destination but also a spiritual one: the encounter with God in the city of his presence. Giving thanks to the Lord is Israel's vocation. Until the whole world recognises God, Israel is called to be the people of thanksgiving in the world, witnesses to divine faithfulness. Thus, every pilgrimage to Jerusalem renews Israel's mission: to give thanks, to praise and to show the way to other nations. The prophet Isaiah had foretold this universal plan: "At the end of days, the mountain of the Lord's temple will be firm on the top of the mountains, and all nations will flock to it... From Zion will go forth the law, and from Jerusalem the word of the Lord." (Is 2:2-3) Jerusalem then becomes a prophetic sign of the renewed world, where all peoples will be united in the same praise and the same peace. The Psalm recalls again: "There the thrones of judgement are set, the thrones of the house of David." With these words, Israel recalls the promise made by God to David through the prophet Nathan: "I will raise up a king from your descendants, and I will make his kingdom firm." (2 Sam 7:12). After the exile, there is no longer a king on the throne, but the promise remains alive: God does not go back on his word. In the celebrations at the Temple, this memory becomes prayer and hope: the day will come when God will raise up a king after his own heart, just and faithful, who will restore peace and justice. The very name Jerusalem means "city of peace." When we pray, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; may those who love you be secure" (Ps 122:6), we are not simply expressing a wish, but a profession of faith: only God can give true peace, and Israel is called to be a witness to this in the world. With the passing of the centuries, the hope for a righteous king is fulfilled in Jesus Christ, the Son of David. It is He who inaugurates the Kingdom of life and truth, of grace and holiness, of justice, love and peace, as proclaimed in the liturgy of the feast of Christ the King. In Him, the earthly Jerusalem becomes the new Jerusalem, the city of the definitive encounter between God and man. Every Eucharist is an ascent towards that city, a pilgrimage of the soul that ends in the heart of God. Israel's pilgrimage to Jerusalem then becomes a symbol of the journey of all humanity towards communion with God. And like the pilgrims of the Psalm, we too, the Church of the New Testament, can say with joy: "What joy when they said to me, 'We will go to the house of the Lord'."

*Second Reading from the letter of St. Paul the Apostle to the Colossians (1:12-20)

The invisible face of God. Once upon a time, there was a world that sought God but did not know how to see him. People looked up to the sky, built temples, offered sacrifices, but God remained invisible, distant. Then, one day, the Word became flesh: the God whom no one had ever seen took on a human face, and that face was that of Jesus of Nazareth. Since then, every time a man looks at Jesus, he looks at God. St Paul said it with words that sound like a song: "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation." In Him, everything that exists finds its origin and meaning. He is not only the beginning of the world, but also its heart: in Him everything was created, and in Him everything was reconciled. This plan of God did not come about yesterday, and Paul speaks of a design that has always been in place: 'He has delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the Kingdom of the Son of his love.' God has always dreamed of a free, luminous human being, capable of communion. But what God had prepared in eternity was realised in time, in the present of Christ. This is why Paul writes: "In Him we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." The mystery of Jesus is not a memory; it is a living reality that continues to work in the hearts of believers every day. God had made man "in His own image and likeness." But that image, in sin, had become clouded. So God Himself came to show us what it means to be human. In Jesus, man is restored to his original beauty. When Pilate shows him to the crowd and says, 'Behold the man!', he does not know that he is uttering a prophecy: in that wounded face, in that humble silence, the true man is revealed, as God had intended him to be. But in that face there is also the face of God. Jesus is the visibility of the invisible. He is God who allows himself to be seen, touched, heard. "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father," he will say to Philip. And Paul will add: "In him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily." In Jesus, God and man meet forever. The infinite has taken flesh, heaven has become flesh. This is the mystery of the Cross. But how can the Cross be a sign of peace and reconciliation? Paul explains it this way: "God wanted to reconcile all things to himself, making peace through the blood of his cross." It is not God who wants the suffering of his Son. It is the hatred of men that kills him. Yet God transforms that hatred into redeeming love. It is the great reversal of history: violence becomes forgiveness, death becomes life, the cross becomes a tree of peace. We have seen men in history who have witnessed to peace and been killed for it — Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Itzhak Rabin, Sadat... — but only Christ, being both man and God, was able to transform evil into grace for the whole world. In his forgiveness of his crucifiers — “Father, forgive them” — God’s own forgiveness is revealed. From that day on, we know that no sin is greater than God’s love. On the cross, everything is accomplished. Paul writes: “God wanted all fullness to dwell in him, and through him to reconcile everything.” Creation finally finds its unity, its peace. The first to enter this Kingdom is the repentant thief: "Today you will be with me in paradise." And from then on, every person who opens themselves to forgiveness enters into that same light. The Eucharist is the heart of the mystery. Faced with such a gift, there is only one possible response: to give thanks. This is why Paul invites us: "Give thanks to God the Father, who has made you capable of sharing in the lot of the saints in the light." The Eucharist — in Greek, eucharistia means precisely "giving thanks" — is the place where the Church relives this mystery. Every Mass is a living memory of this reconciliation: God gives himself, the world is renewed, man finds himself again. It is there that everything is recomposed: the visible and the invisible, earth and heaven, man and God. And so, in the history of the world, a face has revealed the invisible. A pierced heart has brought peace. A broken loaf continues to make present the fullness of love. And every time the Church gathers for the Eucharist, Paul's song is renewed as a cosmic praise: Christ is the image of the invisible God, the first and the last, the one who reconciles the world with the Father, the one in whom everything subsists. In Him, everything finds meaning. In Him, everything is grace. In Him, the invisible God finally has a face: Jesus Christ, Lord of heaven and earth.

*From the Gospel according to Luke (23:35-43)

The logic of men and the logic of God. Three times, at the foot of the cross, the same provocation is repeated to Jesus: "If you are..." — "If you are the Messiah," the religious leaders mock; 'If you are the King of the Jews', sneer the Roman soldiers; 'If you are the Messiah', insults one of the criminals crucified with him. Each speaks from his own point of view: the leaders of Israel expect a powerful Messiah, but before them is a defeated and crucified man; the soldiers, men of earthly power, laugh at a defenceless 'king'; the criminal, on the other hand, awaits a saviour who will free him from death. These three voices recall the three temptations in the desert (Lk 4): even then, the tempter repeated, 'If you are the Son of God...'. Temptations of power, dominion and miracles. Jesus responded each time with the Word: 'It is written: man does not live on bread alone...' 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him alone shall you serve...' 'You shall not tempt the Lord your God'. Scripture was his strength to remain faithful to the mission of the poor and obedient Messiah. On the cross, however, Jesus is silent. He no longer responds to provocations. Yet he knows well who he is: the Messiah, the Saviour. But not according to the logic of men, who would like a God capable of saving himself, of dominating, of winning by force. Jesus dies precisely because he does not correspond to this human logic. His logic is that of God: to save by giving himself, without imposing himself. His silence is not empty, but full of trust. His very name, Jesus, means 'God saves'. He awaits his redemption from God alone, not from himself. The temptations are overcome forever: he remains faithful, totally surrendered into the hands of men, but trusting in the Father. Amidst the insults, two words encapsulate the mystery of the Cross. The first: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." The second, addressed to the "good thief": "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Forgiveness and salvation: two gestures that are both divine and human. In Jesus, God himself forgives and reconciles humanity. The repentant thief — who turns to him and says, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom" — is the first to understand who Christ truly is. He does not ask to come down from the cross, but to be welcomed. In that plea of humility and trust, the "remember" becomes the prayer that opens Paradise. Where Adam, in the Garden of Eden, had succumbed to the temptation to "be like God," Jesus, the new Adam, wins by waiting for everything from God. Adam had wanted to decide his own greatness and had been cast out of Paradise; Jesus, on the other hand, by accepting to be the Son in total abandonment, reopens Paradise to humanity. In the story of the Passion, two logics intersect: that of men, who seek a powerful God, and that of God, who saves through love and weakness. Jesus rejects the temptation to demonstrate his strength; instead, he chooses to trust the Father until the end. In his silence and forgiveness, divine power manifests itself as mercy. Beside him, the repentant thief becomes the first witness of the Kingdom: he recognises Christ as the true King, not of the powerful, but of the saved. Where Adam had closed the gates of Paradise, Jesus reopens them: 'Today you will be with me in Paradise' is God's definitive response to the logic of the world.

+ Giovanni D'Ercole