[1–2 November]

First Reading from the Book of Revelation (Rev 7:2–4, 9–14)

 1. Saint John recounts and describes a vision: ‘I, John, saw an angel ascending from the east, from where the sun rises, and afterwards I saw a vast multitude, which no one could count.’ Let us contemplate, together with the apostle, a mystical vision – in other words, a symbolic representation which should not, however, be interpreted literally. To understand the message the author intends to convey, we must look beyond the images he describes. John describes a great procession made up of two distinct groups. The first group consists of 144,000 people, whom he calls servants of God. This number is not to be understood literally, but symbolically, and these people bear the seal of the living God, which represents Baptism. They are therefore the baptised, that is, the Christians of that time who were being persecuted, to whom John addresses himself in the Book of Revelation, the final book of the Bible. The second group consists of an immense and innumerable multitude, coming from every nation, tribe, people and language, representing the whole of humanity. The number four, present symbolically in this list, refers to the created world, the cosmos and all human beings, perhaps also through the reference to the four cardinal points. But what is the meaning of these symbols?  The immense crowd is dressed in white robes, stands before the throne of God and the Lamb, and holds palm branches in their hands; all these elements have a specific meaning: the white robes signify purity and the wedding garment, a symbol of salvation; standing signifies the state of those who have been raised from the dead and have conquered death; and the palm branches are a symbol of victory; the throne of God and the Lamb depicts the divine presence before which the multitude of the saved gathers. All these symbols prove that these people have attained salvation, and the multitude itself proclaims this, affirming that salvation belongs to God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.

2. But what is the relationship between the baptised and the multitude of the saved? An important point is that the second multitude—that immense crowd drawn from all humanity—does not bear the seal of Baptism described for the first group. This raises a question: who contributed to the salvation of this multitude? According to the interpretation proposed by the text, a fundamental role is played precisely by the 144,000, that is, by John’s contemporary Christians. At the end of the first century, these Christians faced terrible persecution under Emperor Domitian (81–96 AD). Despite their suffering and difficulties, they were called to remain faithful to their faith and to continue bearing witness to the Gospel. Their perseverance was important not only for themselves, but also because it could bear fruit for others. The main message that John wishes to convey to persecuted Christians is a call not to lose faith and to persevere even in the most difficult situations, for the sufferings endured during persecution are not in vain: through their witness, Christians can contribute to the salvation of all humanity. 

3. Here the apostle speaks of the ‘great trial’, referring to the persecutions that Christians at that time were forced to endure. It is precisely in this trial that a profound meaning is found: fidelity to God, especially when it involves suffering, becomes a means through which other people are led to salvation. The vision, therefore, is not merely intended to reassure persecuted Christians, but also to show that their witness has universal value. The message is clear: through this image, the Book of Revelation teaches that when Christians remain faithful in the face of persecution, their witness bears fruit that extends far beyond their own community; and by persevering faithfully through trials and often cruel martyrdom, believers contribute to the salvation of all humanity. The vision thus conveys a message of hope: the harsher the trials, the more the Christian becomes an instrument of conversion and salvation for many. Note: the Roman army used to place a mark on the foreheads of recruits; in the same way, the baptised person becomes a soldier of the King of Heaven, and this protective seal was also known in the Old Testament (Ex 12:7; Ez 9:4). Furthermore, in the Book of Revelation, John sees the victory of the poor and the lowly as a revelation of God’s victory over the forces of evil.

Responsorial Psalm (23/24)  

1. We find ourselves in the Temple of Jerusalem. A great procession approaches and, upon reaching the gates of the Temple, two choirs begin to sing in turn, engaging in a dialogue: ‘Who shall ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who may stand in his holy place?’ The prophet Isaiah had already compared God, thrice Holy, to a consuming fire and asked this  question: ‘Who among us can stand before this consuming fire? Who can stand before these eternal flames?’ (Isaiah 33:14). The meaning is that humankind, on its own, would be unable to bear the sight of God and the splendour of his glory. The psalm expresses the joy and triumph of the chosen people, who are welcomed into God’s presence through no merit of their own. 

2. One of the great revelations to the people of Israel is that God is the Holy One, completely distinct from every other reality, yet at the same time draws near to humankind. Despite his holiness and greatness, God allows man to stand in his presence and to live in communion with him. This psalm is linked to the feast of All Saints because the saints are those who have ascended the Lord’s mountain and have been welcomed into his presence, and now join the angels in their song of praise. During Mass, Christians sing the Sanctus, uniting themselves spiritually with the multitude of angels and saints; and today, on the Feast of All Saints, the liturgy commemorates this immense multitude, which no one can count. 

3. The psalm then describes the answer to the initial question: namely, the person who may stand before God is ‘one who has innocent hands and a pure heart’ and does not put their trust in idols. The primary meaning of ‘purity’ does not concern moral behaviour, for the people know that they are accepted by God not because of their own merits, but because of His benevolence; and the fundamental requirement is to remain faithful to the one true God by rejecting idols. In the Bible, the word ‘pure’ can be compared to its meaning in chemistry: a substance is pure when it is not mixed with other substances. In the same way, a pure heart is a heart that turns solely to God. Purity of heart, therefore, means above all total fidelity to God, and the psalm teaches that a person may stand in His presence not because they are perfect or have accumulated merits, but because they strive to live in fidelity to the one true God.

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint John (3:1–3)

1. ‘Beloved, see…’: with these words, Saint John invites us to contemplate, for learning to see is fundamental to our life of faith. The entire history of humanity can be seen as a journey through which humankind learns to see in the right way. Jesus said: ‘They have eyes to see, yet they do not see.’ This is the tragedy of humankind: having eyes yet failing to recognise the truth, failing to see God’s love for humanity. Here, Saint John invites us to learn to see with the eyes of faith. The theme of seeing runs throughout the Bible and always carries the same meaning: knowing how to see and opening our eyes means discovering the true face of God, who is love.

2. Conversely, our way of looking can be distorted and lead us to misinterpret reality. As happened in the Garden of Eden, where everything depended on the way Adam and Eve looked at and interpreted their surroundings. At the centre of the Garden of Eden stand the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. God allows man to eat the fruit of all the trees, including the tree of life, but forbids him to eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The serpent asks the woman a seemingly innocent question: ‘Is it true that God has told you not to eat the fruit of any tree in the garden?’ The mere act of listening to the serpent begins to alter her perspective. Eve, in fact, starts to regard the forbidden tree as central, rather than the tree of life. Her attention shifts from the goodness of the gifts received from God to what has been forbidden to her. This detail is important because it shows how, at times, simply listening to a deceitful voice is enough to begin seeing reality in the wrong light. The serpent continues to deceive Eve, promising her that, if she eats the fruit, she will not die, but will become like God, knowing good and evil. The woman then looks at the tree and sees that it is good to eat, a delight to the eyes and desirable for gaining wisdom. The narrative deliberately emphasises words relating to sight and perception. She takes the fruit, eats it and offers it to Adam, who in turn eats it. At that point, the text states that both their eyes are opened and they see their own nakedness. Not only have they not become like God, but they begin to experience their nakedness—that is, their fragility and fundamental poverty—as a source of pain.  The story thus shows that a deceived gaze can lead man away from the truth and cause him to lose sight of God’s goodness.  

3. What connection exists between the story of Adam and Eve and this Reading?  The story of Adam and Eve has always been regarded as a key to understanding humanity’s unhappiness and suffering. Mankind, having been deceived, comes to suspect God and regard him as someone who wishes to prevent them from being happy. St John, on the other hand, invites us to do the opposite: ‘Look!’, that is, learn to see and open your eyes. The message is that we must learn to recognise the true face of God and his love for us. When God sets a limit on humankind, he does not do so to prevent us from being happy; on the contrary, he desires the good of humankind. This is why it is important to learn to look at reality through the lens of faith, without allowing ourselves to be deceived by what leads us to doubt his love. By following the example of the saints we commemorate today, let us learn to look with the eyes of faith, so that we may recognise God’s love and his plan for humanity; let us open our eyes to recognise the true face of God. The message is clear: God does not wish to deprive us of good, but loves us and desires our good. To live our faith authentically, we must therefore learn to look beyond appearances and recognise God’s goodness and love in our lives.

From the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (5:1–12a)

1. “When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; he sat down, and his disciples came to him. He began to speak and teach them, saying…” . Jesus ascends the mountain like Moses on Sinai, but whilst Moses came down bearing stone tablets and a Law with prescriptive rules, Jesus ascends the mountain—that is, he takes his place with authority; he sits down, which is the gesture of the Master, of the Rabbi who teaches with authority—and opens his mouth not to command anything, but to proclaim the gospel of holiness: ‘Blessed are…’. He does not, therefore, lay down precepts; rather, he paints a portrait; he does not say ‘you must be like this’, but exhorts: ‘you are already blessed if…’. The Beatitudes are not, therefore, eight new commandments, more difficult than the previous ones. They are, in truth, eight names of Jesus, the portrait of his life and his mission, his identity card which we can recognise in the lives of those who wish to follow him without compromise. And today, in the liturgy that invites us to contemplate all the saints in the glory of Heaven, we recognise holiness in its myriad forms. The saints are not, in fact, supermen, but people in whom the Beatitudes have taken flesh in such a way that their lives become a concrete realisation of them. In the diversity of their charisms, they remind us that it is possible for everyone – absolutely everyone – to become a saint, because Jesus, ‘the Holy One par excellence’, shows us the example and assures us of his constant support. Through Baptism we are all saints; in other words, we belong to God by his free mercy, and life is given to us as a concrete opportunity to embody the divine will within ourselves.  And today, in the splendour of Heaven’s triumph, we recognise the myriad faces that holiness takes on in the stories of people with such diverse spiritual experiences. Whilst every day of the year the liturgical calendar presents us with ‘Blessed and Saints’ recognised and proclaimed as such by the Church, today we embrace a vast multitude of simple and humble people—faces and names that are part of everyday life— people who quietly embody the Gospel Beatitudes, in each of which an aspect of God’s holiness shines forth.

2. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” The poor in spirit are not those who have nothing, but those who know they are not self-sufficient. They are the opposite of the ‘artificial intelligence’ man, who must optimise everything and control everything. The poor person says: ‘Lord, I need You’, and God in Jesus, who ‘though He was rich, became poor’ (2 Cor 8:9), needs to become a beggar for love, and God’s holiness becomes small. How many men and women, whose names we do not know, have lived in simplicity and poverty like St Francis, now known to all; and blessed, then, are those who do not build their lives on image, reputation or success, but entrust themselves to the fatherly hands of God.  ‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ Here God reveals himself as the Comforter. Weeping is not weakness; it is the truest form of prayer, for God is not the God who wipes away tears with a quick fix, but the One who weeps with us. Jesus weeps over Jerusalem; he weeps for Lazarus. The believer’s tears are the holiness of God, who shares in the wounds of every human body; and blessed are those who do not flee from pain through endless distractions, but dwell within it and offer it up.  “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” The meek are not the weak who never get angry, but those who have strength and do not use it to crush others. God is meek: “Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart” (Mt 11:29).  Meekness will conquer the world, and blessed are those who, in their families, at work and on social media, do not expect to win all the time. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.” Righteousness here is not legalism, but tzedekah – that is, the ardent desire for God to reign and for human beings to be respected. God hungers for justice and cannot bear the harm done to the poor; and blessed are those who are not content to say ‘that’s just how everyone is’, but who hunger for a more just world. ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’ Mercy is the heart of God—or rather, rachamim, his maternal compassion. God, therefore, does not have an algorithm that calculates; He has a heart that is moved, and blessed is the one who forgives seventy times seven, who pours oil—not vinegar—onto the wounds of every person. ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.’ Pure is not the one who has never sinned, but the one whose heart is undivided. Cor mundum: a simple heart without ulterior motives. God is pure, transparent; He is light without shadow, and the pure-hearted see because they have no filters of self-interest. Blessed, then, are those who are clear-hearted, without masks, and do not live for ‘likes’. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” Note: it does not say ‘blessed are the peaceful’, those who are calm, but ‘the peacemakers’, the builders of peace. In Hebrew, shalom is not the absence of war; it is the fullness of life. God is a peacemaker because he has broken down the wall between heaven and earth and acts within every heart thirsting for true peace. Blessed are those who do not harbour resentment, those who work for reconciliation, those who switch off their mobile phones at home to foster dialogue and become apostles of listening even where it seems impossible.  “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” This is the final seal. God is the one who is persecuted: from the manger to the cross, he has always been opposed and rejected. True holiness is a thorn in the side, for it unmasks the truth; and blessed are those who remain faithful even when it costs them dearly, those who do not sell their conscience for the sake of convenience. Ultimately, every beatitude reiterates: do not lose heart, and listen to Jesus, who points out the concrete path to happiness that not even death can annul. The world proclaims: blessed are the rich, the powerful, those who never weep, the cunning, the heartless, the violent, the victors. Jesus points to the exact opposite, and history shows that he is right. For example, who today remembers or glorifies Herod, Pilate and other figures who, over the centuries, seemed all-powerful? The Gospel, on the other hand, continues to change hearts and to sow saints along the paths of history. The multitude of saints we celebrate today are, as Pope Francis said, ‘the saints next door’: Grandmothers, mothers who pray and often weep in silence, fathers who bear the burden of the family without complaint, young people who choose purity in a world that embraces every kind of perversion, children, young people and sick adults who offer everything to Jesus for the conversion of sinners, priests who continue to bear witness to the joy of the Gospel even when everything seems too arduous and even futile. Ultimately, a saint is someone who, in their heart—despite their frailties and sins—allows themselves to be loved by God and follows Him, seeking to face life’s obstacles with persevering courage. 

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed  [2 November]

Today, every priest is permitted to celebrate three Holy Masses, and specific readings are provided for each one. I shall limit myself here simply to commenting on three readings and a responsorial psalm.

First Reading from the Book of Job (19:1–23–27) 

1. The sacred author reflects on the meaning of suffering, of faith and of God as liberator, taking as his starting point the biblical figure of Job, the symbol of every person who suffers. Job represents the people of Israel and, more generally, all human beings who face the problem of evil, suffering, pain and death. He is not necessarily a historical figure: rather, he is a symbolic figure in whom billions of people recognise themselves, including ourselves when we suffer. The biblical writer is courageous because he dares to cry out and rebel against suffering in all its forms, but despite the pain, Job remains a man of faith, and his faith is founded on the conviction that God is close to every person who suffers. This certainty has accompanied the people of Israel ever since Moses’ experience before the burning bush (Exodus chapter 3), and Job considers this faith so important that he wishes his words to be engraved forever in stone, with an iron and lead chisel, so that no one may erase them. In ancient times, in fact, lead was poured into the engraved letters to make them more legible. 

2. My Redeemer lives. The word ‘Redeemer’ actually means ‘liberator’ and derives from the Hebrew term Go’el, which refers to the next of kin, responsible for freeing a family member who has fallen into slavery because of debt. In ancient Israel, if a person was forced to sell themselves into slavery to pay off debts, the nearest relative had to intervene to redeem them, paying the creditor and restoring their freedom (Leviticus 25:47–49). Similarly, if someone was forced to sell their land, the relative had the right to buy it back in order to preserve the family heritage (Leviticus 25:25). Financial payment was necessary, but it was not the main purpose: the fundamental aim was to free the person from slavery. This institution expresses an important principle: every member of God’s people must be free. For this reason, no Israelite should accept that a member of their family should remain a slave, and the people of Israel apply this idea to God as well, recognising him as their closest kinsman and their liberator. They therefore call him Go’el. God has proved Himself to be the liberator of Israel on several occasions, beginning with the deliverance from slavery in Egypt. Even during the exile in Babylon, the prophet Isaiah upheld the people’s hope by promising their deliverance.

3. In this brief text, which recalls Isaiah’s promise, it is worth recalling a few fundamental concepts.  Job represents every person who suffers and questions the nature of evil, pain and death. Faith is trust in a God who is close to those who suffer, even in the most difficult moments. Job’s cry shows that believing does not mean not suffering or not protesting against pain. God the Deliverer shows that Israel recognises God as its Go’el, the one who frees from slavery and restores hope. Freedom is the central value of redemption; money is merely a means to achieve it. The central message is that biblical faith does not deny suffering, but affirms that God is close to those who suffer and acts as a liberator and, according to some manuscripts, even as the ‘avenger of blood’ (Numbers 35:19), offering hope and freedom.

Responsorial Psalm (62/63)

1. The expression ‘I rejoice in the shadow of your wings’ comes from a psalm that describes the intimacy between God and his people. To understand it, one must imagine the Temple in Jerusalem before its destruction in 587 BC by Nebuchadnezzar. In the holiest part of the Temple, the Holy of Holies (literally, ‘Holy of the holy things’), stood the Ark of the Covenant, a chest of precious wood overlaid with gold, which held the tablets of the Law. Above the Ark stood two large statues of cherubim. The cherubim were celestial figures originating from the Mesopotamian tradition, depicted with the body and paws of a lion, a human face and large wings. In Mesopotamia they were worshipped as deities, whilst in Israel they were regarded as mere creatures in the service of God. Their outstretched wings symbolically protected the Ark and were considered the footstool of the divine throne. The priest who prayed in the Temple, beneath those wings, thus felt enveloped by God’s tenderness and protection, from dawn until nightfall. The other images in the psalm also draw on the lives of the Levites, those entrusted with religious service in the Temple. The phrase ‘I have beheld you in the sanctuary’ recalls that only the Levites were permitted to enter the holy part of the Temple. The words ‘All my life I will bless you’ indicate that their existence was consecrated to the praise of God, whilst ‘hands raised in invocation of your name’ describes their posture during prayer. The image of being satisfied as at a banquet recalls the sacrifices followed by communal meals and the portion of the sacrificial meat set aside for the Levites’ sustenance. Finally, the remembrance of God during the night recalls the lives of those who served in the Temple and spent their time there.

2. In reality, the psalm is a metaphor: the Levite represents the whole people of Israel, who from the very beginning of their history until the end of time seek God and long to live in intimacy with him. When the psalm says ‘I seek you from the dawn’, it refers not only to the beginning of the day, but to the dawn of time—that is, to Israel’s search for God throughout its history. The words ‘My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, like parched land, thirsty and without water’ profoundly express this longing. The image of the barren land awaiting rain to come back to life was particularly vivid for the people of Israel, who were accustomed to experiencing drought. In the same way, the soul needs God to regain life and hope. The central message is that Israel has thirsted for God from the very beginning of its history, and this thirst becomes even more intense because the people have already experienced his presence and closeness. The most authentic prayer springs precisely from an awareness of our spiritual poverty and our need for God, like the cry of a dehydrated person who pleads: ‘I am thirsty’.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:14–23)

1. On the occasion of the commemoration of All Souls’ Day—that is, of those who have already returned to the Father—we are inevitably confronted with the mystery of death. The Church invites us to reflect on God’s great plan, which encompasses our entire lives, our deaths and those of all people. In his Letter to the Romans, Paul describes this plan as a birth: that of a new creation and a new humanity. This is why he states that the whole of creation groans and suffers as if in the pangs of childbirth. This image suggests that God’s plan is being realised gradually, like a birth that requires time and suffering. Creation, therefore, is not merely an event of the past, but a project that is constantly unfolding. The people of Israel lived in expectation of God’s promises; Paul, who shared this hope, came to understand that expectation in a new light after encountering the risen Jesus.

2. Everything depends on the resurrection of Christ: if Christ had not risen, our faith and our hope would collapse; if, however, he has risen, then the world has changed, because love and life have triumphed over hatred and death, and the Kingdom of God has already begun. Through the resurrection of Jesus, we have already entered the new world and can live as new people. In his first letter, John states that we are already children of God, even though what we will be has not yet been fully revealed. When Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is (1 John 3:2–3). The hope of Christians is that Christ’s resurrection will reach all humanity and transform it, spreading like a contagion. Jesus himself said: ‘I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already ablaze!’ (Luke 12:49).

Our mission is therefore to spread the fire of God’s love throughout the world, knowing that the Holy Spirit is always at our side. It is the Holy Spirit who continues to work in the world to draw it towards God. As Paul reminds us, we have already received the Holy Spirit, but we are still awaiting our full adoption as children of God and the redemption of our bodies. Ultimately, the central message of this text is that death is not the end of God’s plan. Thanks to Christ’s resurrection, we are called to live in the hope of a new creation and, whilst awaiting the full realisation of our lives as children of God, to bear witness to love and to spread the fire of the Holy Spirit throughout the world.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (25:31–46).

1. Yesterday we celebrated the multitude of the saved, praising God in the glory of the Trinity. Today we come to the cemetery and pause to pray for our dear departed who are journeying towards that same destination. The Church, as a wise mother, invites us to listen to the most demanding Gospel passage: the final judgement that awaits us at the end of life.  Jesus says: ‘When the Son of Man comes in his glory, with all his angels, he will sit on the throne of his glory. And all the nations will be gathered before him.’ This is a truth we sometimes forget: for everyone, with death, the day of judgement will come, and with judgement, eternal destiny—heaven or hell. This is not a judgement reserved for just a few, and there is no way out, for death comes to everyone and that day is known only to God. Foolish, therefore, is the person who lives as if they were never to die: they build houses, careers, bank balances, dreams up all manner of plans, without ever lifting their gaze towards heaven, and does not bother to prepare for the encounter with the One who will examine our lives on our final day, a day unknown to us.  Jesus, however, in his mercy, has already revealed to us the content and context of the examination that will mark that encounter. Who will be the judge? Not a cold-hearted official in a court of law, but the Son of Man, the King who reigned  from the manger in Bethlehem to the utter abandonment of Golgotha, He who has already paid the price for us by giving His life for our salvation; the Good Samaritan of the parable who became our neighbour. The judgement, therefore, will not be an act of vengeance, but a revelation of the truth that saves, knowing every hidden intention of ours. And He will carry out this judgement like the shepherd who separates the sheep from the goats. He does not separate the good from the bad by judging on the basis of how much they have prayed or fasted, or how many rosaries they have recited. He separates on the basis of a single criterion: whether they have loved in a concrete way by performing the works of mercy: “ ‘I was hungry and you gave me food, thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, sick and you visited me, in prison and you came to see me.’ Not, therefore, a test of theology, but an examination of reality, a true test of love made flesh. ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you? ’ ‘When did we see you like that and fail to serve you?’ This judgement, in truth, begins right here and now, in every act of love towards our neighbour. Every time we visit an elderly person, feed the hungry, welcome a stranger, forgive, or comfort the despondent, we are already writing, of our own accord, the judgement we will deserve. 

2. Just as it is foolish to live without ever realising that one might die at any moment, so too is it foolish to live in anguish at the thought of death. This passage from the Gospel was not written to terrify us, but to encourage us. Let us not forget that the Judge is the very same Jesus who said: ‘I have not come to judge the world, but to save the world’; he is the very same who, on the cross, forgave the thief: ‘Today you will be with me in paradise’; he is the very same who promised: ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’. For the Christian, therefore, death will not be an encounter with a foreign and severe king and judge, but an embrace with divine mercy. If, then, we seek to recognise the face of Christ in the poor and in the people we meet on the streets of this world, at that very moment that same face will reveal itself to us in the splendour of an eternal ‘face-to-face’ encounter. But there remains one truth we must not forget: judgement is serious and true; heaven exists for those who have believed in divine love, and hell will be for those who, in full freedom and awareness, have decided to say ‘no to love’ forever. 

3. At this point, a question arises: what do the dead tell us through their silence?  When we visit them in cemeteries, we bring flowers and light candles – gestures that are undoubtedly commendable expressions of remembrance and love. But they implore us for a greater gift: to pray for them, for they need our prayers, the Holy Mass and indulgences. At the same time, they remind us that we can honour their memory in a tangible way when we visit the sick, welcome a stranger, help those who ask for support and forgive those who offend us: they remind us that every work of corporal and spiritual mercy is the only way to prepare ourselves for the Last Judgement. Ultimately, they tell us: ‘We have made many mistakes, but we have tried to love, and you must do the same; do not waste time, love today, for today is “the favourable day”’ . Ultimately, they urge us to fill our lives with actions, choices and decisions consistent with our  faith; for when death knocks at our door, it will take love – and concrete love – to hear these words: ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the Kingdom prepared for you since the foundation of the world’.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [25 October 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Exodus 22:20–26 

This text forms part of the Book of the Covenant, that is, the law which God gave at Sinai immediately after the Ten Commandments. It is not an isolated civil law, but the practical consequence of the Covenant that has just been made. Israel has come out of Egypt, has experienced slavery and liberation, and now God says to them: your freedom must become justice for the most vulnerable.

Four groups are protected in this text: the stranger, the widow and the orphan, and the poor person seeking a loan. Three different groups, yet united by a single principle: those without protection must find divine protection in Israel. For the stranger, the historical memory applies: ‘You were strangers in the land of Egypt.’ Those who have known what it is like to live without rights cannot allow others to remain without rights, and God reminds Israel of its own history to prevent it from becoming an oppressor. For the widow and the orphan, the rationale is even stronger. In ancient patriarchal society, without a husband and without adult sons, these people were vulnerable to the confiscation of their property, to exploitation and to starvation. This is why the law states: ‘If you afflict them, when they cry out to me, I will hear their cry and my anger will be kindled.’ The verb ‘to hear’ is central. The cry of the poor, zaaq in Hebrew, is the prayer that God cannot ignore. God takes the side of the wronged. Not afflicting the widow and the orphan is not merely a social duty; it is an act of fidelity to God himself. For the poor debtor, the law intervenes on two fronts. It commands that usury must not be practised: do not impose interest on those who are already poor; in other words, do not turn another’s need into profit. And return the pledge before sunset. In the ancient world, a cloak was the poor person’s only possession – a blanket at night and a garment by day – so taking it as a pledge meant leaving the person unprotected. The law commands that it be returned because human dignity is worth more than financial security. The conclusion, then, is the key to it all: when the poor cry out, I will hear them, for I am merciful; and God calls for social justice because, if He is merciful, so too must His people be. Here, then, is the text’s deepest message: God does not present Himself as a cold lawgiver or a distant judge, but as the One who listens and is moved. True liturgy and true worship are not the sacrifice offered on the altar if the heart remains indifferent to the cry of the weak. God’s holiness is not power; it is active compassion, and human holiness consists in imitating this compassion of His.

This message is of burning relevance today. Today’s strangers are migrants, refugees and undocumented people, but also the new neighbour, the one who is different in culture or faith. Many of our families were once migrants themselves and know what it means to be welcomed or rejected. The memory of our own past as strangers must challenge us: are our homes, our parishes, our country a welcoming inn or a fortress that turns people away? Our widows and orphans are the single mothers, the abandoned elderly, the children without a future, the victims of violence, and the young people without work. When a system crushes them with bureaucracy, unaffordable rents and precarious living conditions, God hears their cry. We cannot claim to love God whilst remaining indifferent. Our poor debtors are the families strangled by mortgages, by easy loans, by three-figure interest rates, by gambling. The biblical principle stands: no debt can take away dignity. Even today, one cannot take a man’s cloak – that is, his last possession – as security. The economy must always retain a human face. This is why Exodus 22:20–26 is not merely an ancient text; it is a call to translate faith into concrete actions. To welcome the stranger, to visit those who are alone, to lend without exploiting, to return what is needed to live. Then the cry of the poor will no longer be an accusation against us, but will become an opportunity to respond to the cry of God, who invites us to be merciful as he is merciful.

 Responsorial Psalm (17/18)

The title of the psalm attributes it to David, the Lord’s servant, who addressed the words of this song to the Lord when he was delivered from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul. It is a true hymn of thanksgiving, not a private prayer, but a liturgical song following a victory. We are probably at the Feast of the Covenant or the commemoration of a deliverance, and the king speaks in the first person, yet he represents the people. Here, only a few of the 51 verses of the psalm are quoted; it opens with a profession of faith: ‘I love you, O Lord, my strength, my rock, my fortress, my deliverer.’ Seven divine titles, like a crown. God is not described in the abstract, but in relation to concrete salvation. The Psalm goes on to recount the danger and the answered prayer. The king is grappling with the waters of death, the snares of Sheol, the torrents of Belial. It is the experience of mortal anguish, but the prayer from the temple is heard: ‘From his temple he heard my voice.’ Then comes the theophany, which forms the heart of the Psalm. God intervenes as a cosmic warrior. The earth trembles, the mountains smoke, the heavens draw near; God rides upon a cherub, hurling lightning and hail. The language is drawn from Sinai and from the myth of the warrior God who battles the sea and chaos. This is not a scientific description, but poetic language to convey that when God acts, the entire universe participates in the salvation of his chosen one. The king’s justice and victory follow. After the storm, God reaches out his hand and delivers from the deep waters and from powerful enemies. The rationale is central: ‘The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness.’ This is not presumption: David presents himself as one who observes the Law, a man of integrity. The Psalm echoes the theology of retribution: to those who are faithful, God is faithful; to those who are good, you are good; to the upright, you are upright. The Psalm concludes with a universal perspective: the delivered king sings not only for Israel, but proclaims God’s name amongst the nations.

For the believer today, this Psalm teaches us to pray in times of trial by invoking God’s names, to recognise that deliverance comes from him, and to live consistently, for faithfulness attracts faithfulness. The theophany reminds us that our personal history is part of a cosmic plan: God does not save on a small scale; he saves in such a way as to make the waters of chaos tremble, like a victorious warrior.

Second Reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (1:5c–10)

Paul expresses his gratitude to the community in Thessalonica, which received the Gospel with genuine faith, despite difficulties and persecution. He recognises in the Thessalonians the tangible fruits of God’s work: their lives have been transformed by the Word and their witness has become an example to other believers. It was a newly formed community, born in difficult circumstances, yet it had managed to take root in the faith. Paul thus shows that the strength of the Church does not depend on the absence of problems, but on the ability to receive and live out the Gospel in the power of the Holy Spirit. First of all, Paul recalls that the Thessalonians received the Word ‘with the joy of the Holy Spirit’, even in the midst of tribulations. Their faith did not remain a mere theoretical commitment, but became an experience capable of facing difficulties. Christian joy, in fact, does not consist in the absence of suffering, but in the certainty of God’s presence even in the most difficult moments. And in this way, the Thessalonians became a model for the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. Their faith spread beyond the boundaries of the community, as a living proclamation of the Gospel. Paul emphasises that Christian witness is expressed not only through words, but above all through a life transformed by the encounter with Christ; and proof that the Thessalonians had been converted lies in their turning away from idols to serve the living and true God and to await his Son, Jesus, risen from the dead. This is a radical change: it is not merely a change in the way one thinks, but a shift in the very centre of one’s existence. Christian faith always involves a concrete choice: to leave behind what distances us from God, to live in his service, and to keep our gaze fixed on Christ, our hope.

St Paul invites us to reflect on the quality of our faith. To embrace the Gospel means allowing the Word to transform our daily choices, our relationships and the way we face life’s trials; and the joy of the Holy Spirit reminds us that even in suffering we can find strength and hope. Furthermore, like the Thessalonians, we are called to become credible witnesses to Christ, not so much through grand speeches as through concrete acts of love, service and solidarity. Finally, turning away from idols is more necessary than ever in our own time, for even today we can place the idols of consumer culture at the centre of our lives: success, money, power or the pursuit of approval. Conversion means recognising that only God can give fulfilment to our existence and living in confident anticipation of Jesus’ return. In conclusion, we can say that here Saint Paul presents a journey of faith that leads from listening to the Word to conversion, from conversion to witness, and from witness to hope. The Christian community thus becomes a tangible sign of God’s presence in the world, capable of proclaiming through its very life that Christ is risen and that salvation is found in him.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (22:34–40)

The greatest commandment. We are in Jerusalem, in the final days of Jesus’ life. Following the exchange with the Sadducees on the resurrection, the Pharisees gather in council, not to seek the truth, but to trap him. They send a teacher of the Law – an expert in the 613 precepts of the Law – with a trick question: which is the greatest commandment? For the rabbis, this is a classic debate between different rabbinic schools. Many rabbis of the school of Shammai maintained that the Sabbath was the greatest commandment; others, that it was circumcision; and still others, that it was the study of the Torah. Jesus responds succinctly, yet with startling depth. He does not cite any of the 613 commandments found in the Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 23b, and in the subsequent rabbinic tradition (248 positive commandments corresponding to the limbs or parts of the human body and 365 negative commandments corresponding to the days of the year), but draws upon two fundamental texts for Israel: the Shema: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your strength’, found in Deuteronomy (cf. 6:5) and which every Jew recited morning and evening because, ultimately, it is the fundamental act of faith. The second text is found in the Book of Leviticus: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (cf. 19:18). Jesus does something unprecedented: he places the two texts on an equal footing and says that the second is like the first, using the Greek term homoios, meaning equal in nature, not merely similar in importance. And he concludes: ‘On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.’ The image that emerges is that of a building: the entire Torah hangs on these two nails, and if you remove these two nails, the whole structure collapses. Jesus, therefore, does not abolish the 613 precepts, but points out the centre that sustains them. The Law is not, therefore, a burden of rules; it is the concrete expression of a twofold love, and Jesus reveals to us that God does not want mere religiosity; He asks for love – total love. To love God with all one’s heart, with all one’s soul, with all one’s mind means not reserving just a corner of one’s life for God, but the centre and the entirety of one’s life; for the heart is the will, the soul is life itself, and the mind is thought. It is not enough to say one believes; one must love through one’s choices, through one’s very breath, through one’s reason… To love one’s neighbour as oneself is the revolution. It does not say to love one’s neighbour more than oneself; it says ‘as oneself’, that is, with the same natural care with which we look after ourselves, nourish ourselves and seek what is good. One’s neighbour, therefore, is not a stranger; they are another version of oneself. And who is one’s neighbour? In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus explains that we are called to be a neighbour to anyone we meet on our path, even to the enemy and the stranger. Loving God and loving one’s neighbour point to two inseparable forms of love, for one cannot claim to love God whilst hating one’s brother; nor can one truly love one’s brother without loving God, because it is only in God that we find the strength to love those who do not love us. These two pillars are like the wings of a bird: without a wing, no bird can fly. But how do we live out this new commandment today? On closer inspection, in our world we are witnessing a reversal of this hierarchy of values, for we place ourselves at the centre whilst God and our neighbour become mere options. We betray our first love every time our heart is divided amongst a thousand idols: work, success, money, image, power. We love God with our lips, but our minds and hearts are elsewhere. Jesus asks us today: have you given God first place, or just the leftovers of your time? It is easy to betray our love for our neighbour in this paradoxical age of connection and loneliness. We know everything about everyone on social media, yet we do not know our next-door neighbour, and perhaps not even those living under our own roof. Our neighbour sometimes becomes a nuisance, a rival, someone to be judged. Jesus reminds us that the measure of love is not a feeling, but a concrete act. Loving our neighbour as ourselves means treating others as you would wish to be treated when you are sick, poor, lonely or a stranger. The challenge, therefore, is a practical one. Love for God is measured by love for one’s neighbour, and love for one’s neighbour is rooted in the love of God. We cannot separate them, and when we truly love, the whole Law and the Prophets are fulfilled.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

He Called to Himself: emergency by Name, before than around

(Lk 6:12-19)

Lk reflects the double direction of worship in primitive communities: Prayer as a significant openness to the Father and internal celebration among disciples (vv.13-17) - and the public Proclamation with works, to the people.

The community is close: God is in our history. The idea of a distant Kingdom produces separations, pastorally inconsistent pyramids, and dispersive cultivation of interests.

In short, it is crucial to mature first, wherever we live.

Whoever cultivates many cravings projects them; he causes his own murky influences. For this reason Prayer and reflection are necessary, which - from Listening - transmit to us the sense of our being in the world and a right disposition.

It seems a paradox, but concern for the needs of the multitudes is a problem exquisitely rooted in the depths.

It is from oneself and from the community that we look with empathy at the world itself, knowing how to recover its opposite sides.

It is the Way of the Interior that penetrates and activates the way of the outside.

Thus we immerse ourselves in the Source of Being: to shift our hasty gaze. He who is not free cannot free.

The only wise way to scrutinize far is to stick to the reason for things, a principle that we actively know, if not misled by superficiality and reductions.

Understanding the nature of creatures and conforming to them in a growing way, everyone is inspired to transmute and complete, enriching even the cultural sclerosis without alienating forcing.

All this, activating a practice of goodness even with oneself.

Not to distinguish the moment of the Vocation from that of the ministerial Sending: the way of Heaven is intertwined with the path of the Person.

It is in short to approach the sense of the missional uniqueness of each Apostle that Jesus spends an entire night in Prayer (v.12).

Most of the early followers have names typical of Judaism, even of the time of the Patriarchs - which indicates a mental and spiritual extraction rooted more in ancient religion than in the new Faith: reality not easy to manage.

But also for them the Lord releases his full strength of Life, despite the fact that in themselves they were ordinary individuals, full of limits.

However, the Kingdom is «local and universal» [Fratelli Tutti, nn.142-153], Near and by Name - as the Gospel passage from Lk.

This is the multiple force, biting, incomparable, close and personal, which wins any possibility of ideal sabotage [because of adverse circumstances].

Power drawn both from direct prayer to the Father in Christ - in his night Listening (v.12) - and from the works of love (vv.17-19).

Powers in personal, sensitive, shared symbiosis.

Mission not only for excellents, nor unilateral, but for a restless contagion.

Announcement of new Light received in Gift: where precisely not a single form or colour appears.

And the Axis is for us: hiding sometimes with Him.

«This is what tradition was subsequently to formulate in the well-known saying: "Contemplata aliis tradere" (cf. St Thomas, Summa Theologiae, IIa-IIae, q. 188, art. 6)» [Pope Benedict].

To internalize and live the message:

In your experience, which chain united Heaven and earth?

[St  Simon and Jude, October 28]

The double address of worship, but the Axis is to be with Him

(Lk 6:12-19)

"He went out to the mountain to pray and spent the night in prayer to God" (v.12).

"And the whole crowd sought to touch Him, for a Power went out from Him and healed all" (v.19).

Lk reflects the double direction of worship in the primitive communities.

First, the Prayer as a significant opening to the Father and internal celebration among disciples (vv.13-17). Then the public proclamation (with works) to the people.

The community is close: God is in our history.

The idea of a distant Kingdom produces separations, (pastorally) inconsistent pyramidal hierarchies. Sometimes, dispersive cultivation of internal interests passed off as great sensitivity and altruism.

In short, to walk seriously alongside oneself and others, it is essential to first mature, wherever we live.

This applies to taking different initiatives; even possibly to rebelling against the stagnant landscape that likes to return to old-fashioned securities.

In this way, there may be less than noble motives for wanting to get everywhere at once, to run everywhere to make proselytes, and to do so out of opposition, without a "dream of friendship" [cf. encyclical Fratelli Tutti, passim].

For he who cultivates many lusts, projects them; he procures his own murky influences.

That is why prayer and reflection are necessary - indispensable also to Jesus (v.12) - which give us the sense of our being in the world, the Father's vision, and a right disposition.

Deep meditations and spontaneous prayers annihilate infidelities that do not offer genuine life, authentic motives, or values of the spirit.

Prayers undermine and demolish the dehumanisations, the emotions that alienate us and alienate us from our brothers, the pitfalls that tend to build other temples and shrines.

The same charge of universality and 'sense of urgency' are contained in the rootedness to values conveyed by dialogue with God. And his Mystery (for us), in relationships, in intimate self-knowledge.

Indeed... stimuli, virtuous principles, gaps and hidden sides are complementary energetic aspects.

It seems a paradox, but the interest in the needs of the multitudes is an issue exquisitely rooted in the intimate, not at all external.

It is from oneself and from the community that one looks at the world with empathy, knowing how to recover its opposites.

It is the Way of the Interior that interpenetrates and activates the Way of the Exterior.

This is how we willingly pray: to immerse ourselves in the vibrant Source of being, and to shift our hasty gaze.

By contrast and hindrance, the habitual partiality that "gets in the way" does not grasp the value of the social and cultural polyhedron.

On the other hand, unfortunately, it is only by loving strength that one prefers to start from the too distant.

One must first heal what is intimate and close. He who is not free cannot emancipate anyone.

Thus, the only way to peer into the distance is to stick to the reason of things - the principle that one actively knows, if not misled by superficialities and reductions [individualistic or monovalent, one-sided and club-like].

By understanding the nature of creatures and increasingly conforming to it, all are inspired to transmute and complete themselves.

A non-alienating process that also enriches possible cultural sclerosis, without hysterical or external forcing.

All this, practising goodness even with oneself.

The Tao (XLVII) says: "Without going out the door, you know the world; without looking out the window, you glimpse the Way to Heaven. The farther you go, the less you know. That is why the saint does not go around and yet knows, does not see and yet discerns, does not act and yet completes".

It is only from the Source of being - the common home - that an undissociated, all-saved life springs forth, one that effectively endures and can expand. 

Are we a sign of dedication and striving people? We do not do this for 'merit' or to gain sympathy.

Without being a cult, after a good training - which also imparts to us a wise tolerance, from the world within.

No extrinsic purpose, which would lose its soul and bring no change.

Not to distinguish the moment of Vocation from the moment of ministerial sending.

The way to Heaven is intertwined with the way of the Person and with the way of Nature ["like a sister, with whom we share existence, and like a beautiful mother who welcomes us into her arms": Laudato Si', no.1] or we will be busybodies.

None of the Apostles - ordinary people - were worthy of the Call (vv.13-15).

To understand this, and approach the meaning of their missional uniqueness, Jesus must spend an entire night in prayer (v.12).

Most of the first followers have names typical of Judaism, even of the time of the Patriarchs - indicating a mental and spiritual background rooted more in the ancient religion than in the new Faith; baggage not easy to handle.But even for the undecided, the Lord unleashes his power of full Life, precisely because he is an absolutely ordinary person full of limitations; not infrequently perplexed, even open opponents.

Peter was eager to come forward, though often backtracking - backtracking - to the point of becoming for Jesus a 'satan' [(Mt 16:23; Mk 8:33): in the culture of the ancient East, an official of the great ruler, sent to act as a controller and delator - practically an accuser].

James of Zebedee and John were brothers, ardent fundamentalists, and in a wrathful manner wanted the Master for themselves alone, as well as the first places.

Philip [conditioned perhaps by a Hellenistic extraction, as his name indicates] at first sight did not seem a very practical fellow, nor quick to grasp the things of God.

Andrew, on the other hand, seemed to do well: an inclusive person.

According to well-known traditional identifications, Bartholomew was perhaps open but perplexed, because the Messiah did not correspond to him much.

Thomas always a little in and a little out.

Matthew - a collaborator, greedy accomplice of the oppressive system, and willingly extorting money from his people [the people ruthlessly condemned him].

Simon - the zealot, the Canaanite - a hothead.

Judas Iscariot a tormented, self-destructive for trusting old spiritual leaders - imbued with nationalist ideology, self-interest, opportunism and power.

Two others (James the younger son of Alphaeus, and Judas Thaddeus) mere disciples perhaps of no great prominence or capacity for initiative.

But the Kingdom is "local and universal" [Fratelli Tutti, nn.142-153], Near and by Name - as the Gospel passage from Lk.

This is the manifold, grasping, incomparable, close and precisely personal power that overcomes any possibility of ideal sabotage (due to adverse circumstances).

Power drawn both from prayer directed to the Father in Christ - in his nightly Listening (v.12) - as well as from works of love (vv.17-19).

Power in personal, sensitive, shared symbiosis.

Not for the excellent alone... or even in the time of global emergency there will be no healing work (v.19) but only external, accusatory and aimed at propaganda, proselytism.

Announcement and Mission of new Light received in Gift: where precisely not a single form or colour appears.

And the Axis is "being" with Him.

"This is what tradition has then formulated with the well-known expression: 'Contemplata aliis tradere' (cf. St Thomas, Summa Theologiae, IIa-IIae, q. 188, art. 6)". [Pope Benedict].

For a contagion that is neither alarmist nor one-sided, monochromatic, but flourishing, multifaceted, sometimes 'hidden', and restless.

To internalise and live the message:

In your experience, what chain has united heaven and earth?

The (accusatory) list and effort of transgressions to be neurotically corrected?

Or a personal Calling, inclusive of your many faces in the soul - a Vocation supported by a Church that became an echo and a free Source of all-round understanding?

The Church was built on the foundation of the Apostles as a community of faith, hope and charity. Through the Apostles, we come to Jesus himself. The Church begins to establish herself when some fishermen of Galilee meet Jesus, allowing themselves to be won over by his gaze, his voice, his warm and strong invitation:  "Follow me, and I will make you become fishers of men" (Mk 1: 17; Mt 4: 19). 

At the start of the third millennium, my beloved Predecessor John Paul II invited the Church to contemplate the Face of Christ (cf. Novo Millennio Ineunte, n. 16 ff.). Continuing in the same direction, I would like to show, in the Catechesis that I begin today, how it is precisely the light of that Face that is reflected on the face of the Church (cf. Lumen Gentium, n. 1), notwithstanding the limits and shadows of our fragile and sinful humanity.

After Mary, a pure reflection of the light of Christ, it is from the Apostles, through their word and witness, that we receive the truth of Christ. Their mission is not isolated, however, but is situated within a mystery of communion that involves the entire People of God and is carried out in stages from the Old to the New Covenant. 

In this regard, it must be said that the message of Jesus is completely misunderstood if it is separated from the context of the faith and hope of the Chosen People:  like John the Baptist, his direct Precursor, Jesus above all addresses Israel (cf. Mt 15: 24) in order to "gather" it together in the eschatological time that arrived with him. And like that of John, the preaching of Jesus is at the same time a call of grace and a sign of contradiction and of justice for the entire People of God. 

And so, from the first moment of his salvific activity, Jesus of Nazareth strives to gather together the People of God. Even if his preaching is always an appeal for personal conversion, in reality he continually aims to build the People of God whom he came to bring together, purify and save. 

As a result, therefore, an individualistic interpretation of Christ's proclamation of the Kingdom, specific to liberal theology, is unilateral and without foundation, as a great liberal theologian Adolf von Harnack summed it up in the year 1900 in his lessons on The essence of Christianity:  "The Kingdom of God, insofar as it comes in single individuals, is able to enter their soul and is welcomed by them. The Kingdom of God is the dominion of God, certainly, but it is the dominion of the holy God in individual hearts" (cf. Third Lesson, 100 ff.). 

In reality, this individualism of liberal theology is a typically modern accentuation:  in the perspective of biblical tradition and on the horizon of Judaism, where the work of Jesus is situated in all its novelty, it is clear that the entire mission of the Son-made-flesh has a communitarian finality. He truly came to unite dispersed humanity; he truly came to unite the People of God.

An evident sign of the intention of the Nazarene to gather together the community of the Covenant, to demonstrate in it the fulfilment of the promises made to the Fathers who always speak of convocation, unification, unity, is the institution of the Twelve. We heard about this institution of the Twelve in the Gospel reading. I shall read the central passage again:  "And he went up into the hills and called to him those whom he desired; and they came to him. And he appointed twelve to be with him, and to be sent out to preach and have authority to cast out demons. The names of the twelve Apostles are these..." (Mk 3: 13-16; cf. Mt 10: 1-4; Lk 6: 12-16). 

On the site of the revelation, "the mount", taking initiative that demonstrates absolute awareness and determination, Jesus establishes the Twelve so that, together with him, they are witnesses and heralds of the coming of the Kingdom of God. 

There are no doubts about the historicity of this call, not only because of the antiquity and multiplicity of witnesses, but also for the simple reason that there is also the name of Judas, the Apostle who betrayed him, notwithstanding the difficulties that this presence could have caused the new community. 

The number 12, which evidently refers to the 12 tribes of Israel, already reveals the meaning of the prophetic-symbolic action implicit in the new initiative to re-establish the holy people. As the system of the 12 tribes had long since faded out, the hope of Israel awaited their restoration as a sign of the eschatological time (as referred to at the end of the Book of Ezekiel:  37: 15-19; 39: 23-29; 40-48). 

In choosing the Twelve, introducing them into a communion of life with himself and involving them in his mission of proclaiming the Kingdom in words and works (cf. Mk 6: 7-13; Mt 10: 5-8; Lk 9: 1-6; 6: 13), Jesus wants to say that the definitive time has arrived in which to constitute the new People of God, the people of the 12 tribes, which now becomes a universal people, his Church.
Appeal for Israel 

With their very own existence, the Twelve - called from different backgrounds - become an appeal for all of Israel to convert and allow herself to be gathered into the new covenant, complete and perfect fulfilment of the ancient one. The fact that he entrusted to his Apostles, during the Last Supper and before his Passion, the duty to celebrate his Pasch, demonstrates how Jesus wished to transfer to the entire community, in the person of its heads, the mandate to be a sign and instrument in history of the eschatological gathering begun by him. In a certain sense we can say that the Last Supper itself is the act of foundation of the Church, because he gives himself and thus creates a new community, a community united in communion with himself. 

In this light, one understands how the Risen One confers upon them, with the effusion of the Spirit, the power to forgive sins (cf. Jn 20: 23). Thus, the Twelve Apostles are the most evident sign of Jesus' will regarding the existence and mission of his Church, the guarantee that between Christ and the Church there is no opposition:  despite the sins of the people who make up the Church, they are inseparable.

Therefore, a slogan that was popular some years back:  "Jesus yes, Church no", is totally inconceivable with the intention of Christ. This individualistically chosen Jesus is an imaginary Jesus.

We cannot have Jesus without the reality he created and in which he communicates himself. Between the Son of God-made-flesh and his Church there is a profound, unbreakable and mysterious continuity by which Christ is present today in his people. He is always contemporary with us, he is always contemporary with the Church, built on the foundation of the Apostles and alive in the succession of the Apostles. And his very presence in the community, in which he himself is always with us, is the reason for our joy. Yes, Christ is with us, the Kingdom of God is coming.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 15 March 2006]

1. A priestly, sacramental, prophetic community, the Church was established by Jesus Christ as a structured, hierarchical and ministerial society, in function of the pastoral governance for the formation and continuous growth of the community. The first subjects of this ministerial and pastoral function are the twelve Apostles, chosen by Jesus Christ as the visible foundations of his Church. As the Second Vatican Council says, "Jesus Christ, the eternal Shepherd, built up the holy Church and sent the Apostles as He Himself was sent by the Father (cf. Jn 20:21), and He willed that their successors, that is, the bishops, should be shepherds in His Church until the end of time" (LG 18). This passage from the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church - Lumen Gentium - reminds us first of all of the original and unique position of the Apostles in the institutional framework of the Church. From the Gospel story we know that Jesus called disciples to follow him and from among them he chose twelve (cf. Lk 6:13).

The evangelical narration makes us know that for Jesus it was a decisive choice, made after a night of prayer (cf. Lk 6:12); a choice made with a sovereign freedom: Mark tells us that Jesus, having ascended the mountain, called to himself "those whom he wanted" (Mk 3:13). The Gospel texts record the names of the individuals called (cf. Mk 3:16-19 et par.): a sign that their importance was perceived and recognised in the early Church.

2. By creating the group of the Twelve, Jesus created the Church, as a visible structured society at the service of the Gospel and the coming of the Kingdom of God. The number twelve referred to the twelve tribes of Israel, and Jesus' use of it reveals his intention to create a new Israel, the new people of God established as the Church. Jesus' creative intention transpires from the same verb used by Mark to describe the institution: 'He made twelve . . . He made the twelve'. "Make" recalls the verb used in the Genesis account about the creation of the world and in Deutero-Isaiah (Is 43:1; 44:2) about the creation of God's people, ancient Israel. The creative will is also expressed in the new names given to Simon (Peter) and James and John (Sons of Thunder), but also to the group or college as a whole. In fact, Luke writes that Jesus "chose twelve, to whom he gave the name of apostles" (Lk 6:13). The Twelve Apostles thus became a characteristic, distinct and, in some respects, unrepeatable socio-ecclesial reality. In their group emerged the Apostle Peter, about whom Jesus manifested more explicitly his intention to found a new Israel, with the name given to Simon: "stone", on which Jesus wanted to build his Church (cf. Mt 16:18).

3. Jesus' purpose in establishing the Twelve is defined by Mark: "He made twelve of them to be with him, and also to send them out to preach, and that they might have power to cast out demons" (Mk 3:14-15). The first constitutive element of the group of the Twelve is therefore an absolute attachment to Christ: they are people called to "be with him", that is, to follow him, leaving everything behind. The second element is the missionary element, expressed on the model of the mission of Jesus himself, who preached and cast out demons. The mission of the Twelve is a participation in Christ's mission by men closely linked to him as disciples, friends, trustees.

4. In the mission of the Apostles, the evangelist Mark emphasises "the power to cast out demons". It is a power over the power of evil, which in a positive sense means the power to give men the salvation of Christ, the One who casts out the "prince of this world" (John 12, 31). Luke confirms the meaning of this power and the purpose of the institution of the Twelve by quoting the word of Jesus giving the Apostles authority in the Kingdom: "You are the ones who have persevered with me in my trials. And I lay down for you a kingdom as the Father has laid down for me" (Lk 22:28). Also in this statement, perseverance in union with Christ and the authority granted in the kingdom are intimately linked. It is a pastoral authority, as is evident from the text on the mission specifically entrusted to Peter: 'Shepherd my lambs . . . Shepherd my sheep" (John 21: 15-17). Peter personally receives supreme authority in the shepherding mission. This mission is exercised as participation in the authority of the one Shepherd and Master, Christ. The supreme authority entrusted to Peter does not cancel the authority given to the other Apostles in the kingdom. The pastoral mission is shared by the Twelve under the authority of the one universal Shepherd, mandatary and representative of the Good Shepherd, Christ.

5. The specific tasks inherent in the mission entrusted by Jesus Christ to the Twelve are the following: a) mission and power to evangelise all nations, as the three Synoptics clearly attest (cf. Mt 28:18-20; Mk 16:16-18; Lk 24:45-48). Among them, Matthew highlights the relationship established by Jesus himself between his messianic power and the mandate he gave to the Apostles: "All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations" (Mt 28:18). The Apostles will be able and must carry out their mission by the power of Christ manifested in them. b) mission and power to baptise (Mt 28:19), as the fulfilment of Christ's mandate, with a baptism in the name of the Most Holy Trinity (Ibid), which will be carried out in the name of the Most Holy Trinity (Ibid). Trinity (Ibid), which, being linked to the paschal mystery of Christ, in the Acts of the Apostles is also considered as baptism in the name of Jesus (cf. Acts 2:38; 8:16). c) mission and power to celebrate the Eucharist: "Do this in memory of me" (Lk 22:19; 1 Cor 11:24-25). The commission to redo what Jesus accomplished at the Last Supper, with the consecration of the bread and wine, implies a power of the highest level; to say in the name of Christ: "This is my body", "this is my blood", is almost an identification with Christ in the sacramental act. d) mission and power to forgive sins (Jn 20:22-23). It is a participation of the Apostles in the power of the Son of Man to forgive sins on earth (cf. Mk 2:10): that power which in Jesus' public life had caused the astonishment of the crowd, of which the evangelist Matthew tells us that they "gave glory to God who had given such power to men" (Mt 9:8).

6. To fulfil this mission, the Apostles received, besides power, the special gift of the Holy Spirit (cf. Jn 20:21-22), which was manifested at Pentecost, according to Jesus' promise (cf. Acts 1:8). By virtue of this gift, from the moment of Pentecost they began to fulfil the mandate of evangelising all peoples. The Second Vatican Council tells us this in the Constitution Lumen Gentium: "The Apostles . . . preaching everywhere the Gospel, accepted by the hearers through the motion of the Holy Spirit, gather together the universal Church, which the Lord founded on the Apostles and built on blessed Peter, their head, while Jesus Christ himself is its cornerstone (cf. Rev 21:14; Mt 16:18; Eph 2:20)" (LG 19).

7. The mission of the Twelve included a fundamental role reserved for them, which would not be inherited by others: to be eyewitnesses of the life, death and resurrection of Christ (cf. Lk 24:48), to transmit his message to the primitive community, as a hinge between divine revelation and the Church, and for this very reason to initiate the Church in the name and by virtue of Christ, under the action of the Holy Spirit. For this function of theirs, the Twelve Apostles constitute a group of unique importance in the Church, which since the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Symbol is defined as apostolic (Credo una sanctam, catholicam et 'apostolicam' Ecclesiam) because of this indissoluble link to the Twelve. This explains why also in the liturgy the Church has included and reserved special solemn celebrations in honour of the Apostles.

8. However, Jesus conferred on the Apostles a mission of evangelisation of all nations, which takes a very long time, and indeed lasts "until the end of the world" (Mt 28:20). The Apostles understood that it was Christ's will that they should provide successors, who, as their heirs and legates, would carry on their mission. They therefore established "episcopes and deacons" in the various communities "and arranged that after their death other approved men should receive their succession in the ministry" (Clement of Rome, Ep. Ad Cor., 44, 2; cf. 42, 1. 4). In this way Christ established a hierarchical and ministerial structure of the Church, formed by the Apostles and their successors; a structure that did not derive from a previously established community, but was created directly by him. The Apostles were, at one and the same time, the seeds of the new Israel and the origin of the sacred hierarchy, as stated in the Council's Constitution Ad Gentes (AG 5). This structure therefore belongs to the very nature of the Church, according to the divine plan realised by Jesus. According to this same plan, it has an essential role in the entire development of the Christian community, from the day of Pentecost to the end of time, when in the heavenly Jerusalem all the elect will fully participate in the 'New Life' for eternity.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 1 July 1992]

"Prayer and witness" are the "two tasks of the bishops" who are "pillars of the Church". But if they weaken, the whole people of God suffers. That is why, Pope Francis asked during the mass celebrated on Friday morning 22 January in the chapel of the Casa Santa Marta, we must pray insistently for the successors of the twelve apostles.

The Pontiff's reflection on the figure and mission of the bishop started from the passage from the evangelist Mark (3:13-19) proclaimed during today's liturgy. "There is a word in this Gospel passage that attracts attention: Jesus 'constituted'". And this word "appears twice". In fact, Mark writes: "'He constituted twelve, whom he called apostles'". And then he resumes: 'He therefore constituted the twelve', and names them, one after the other'. Therefore, the Pontiff explained, 'Jesus, among so many people who followed him - the Gospel tells us - "called to himself those he wanted"'. In short, 'there is a choice: Jesus chose those whom He wanted'. And, indeed, "he constituted twelve. Whom he called apostles'. In fact, Francis continued, "there were others: there were the disciples" and "the Gospel speaks of seventy-two, on one occasion". But 'these were something else'.

The "twelve are constituted so that they might be with Him and to send them out to preach with the power to cast out demons," the Pope explained. "This is the most important group that Jesus chose, 'so that they might be with Him', closer, 'and to send them out to preach' the Gospel." And "with the power to cast out demons," Mark further added. Precisely those 'twelve are the first bishops, the first group of bishops'.

These twelve 'chosen ones,' Francis noted, 'were aware of the importance of this election, so much so that after Jesus had been taken up into heaven, Peter spoke to the others and explained to them that, given Judas' betrayal, it was necessary to do something'. And so from among those who had been with Jesus, from John's baptism until his ascension, they chose "a witness 'with us' - says Peter - of the resurrection". Here, continued the Pope, that "the place of Judas is filled, it is taken by Matthias: Matthias is chosen".

Then "the liturgy of the Church, referring to "some expressions of Paul", calls the twelve "the pillars of the Church". Yes, said the Pontiff, 'the apostles are the pillars of the Church. And the bishops are the columns of the Church. That election of Matthias was the first episcopal ordination of the Church'.

"I would like to say a few words today about bishops," Francis confided. "We bishops have this responsibility to be witnesses: witnesses that the Lord Jesus is alive, that the Lord Jesus is risen, that the Lord Jesus walks with us, that the Lord Jesus saves us, that the Lord Jesus gave his life for us, that the Lord Jesus is our hope, that the Lord Jesus always welcomes us and forgives us." Here is 'the testimony'. Consequently, he continued, 'our life must be this: a testimony, a true testimony to the resurrection of Christ'.

And when Jesus, as Mark recounts, makes "this choice" of the twelve, he has two reasons. Firstly, "so that they might be with Him". Therefore "the bishop has the obligation to be with Jesus". Yes, "it is the bishop's first obligation: to be with Jesus". And it is true "to such an extent that when the problem arose, in the early days, that orphans and widows were not well cared for, the bishops - these twelve - got together and thought about what to do". And "they introduced the figure of the deacons, saying: 'Let the deacons take care of the orphans, of the widows'". While the twelve, "says Peter", are assigned "two tasks: prayer and the proclamation of the Gospel".

Therefore, Francis reiterated, "the first task of the bishop is to be with Jesus in prayer". In fact, "the bishop's first task is not to make pastoral plans... no, no!". It is "to pray: this is the first task". While 'the second task is to be a witness, that is to preach: to preach the salvation that the Lord Jesus brought us'.

They are 'two tasks that are not easy,' the Pontiff acknowledged, 'but it is precisely these two tasks that make the columns of the Church strong'. In fact, "if these columns weaken, because the bishop does not pray or prays little, he forgets to pray; or because the bishop does not proclaim the Gospel, he occupies himself with other things, the Church also weakens; it suffers. The people of God suffer". Precisely 'because the pillars are weak'.

For this reason, Francis said, 'I would like to invite you today to pray for us bishops: because we too are sinners, we too have weaknesses, we too have the danger of Judas: he too was elected as a pillar'. Yes, he continued, 'we too run the danger of not praying, of doing something other than proclaiming the Gospel and casting out demons'. Hence, the Pope reiterated, the invitation to "pray that the bishops be what Jesus wanted and that we all bear witness to the resurrection of Jesus".

Moreover, he added, "the people of God pray for the bishops, in every mass we pray for the bishops: we pray for Peter, the head of the episcopal college, and we pray for the local bishop". But 'this may not be enough: one says the name out of habit and moves on'. It is important "to pray for the bishop with the heart, to ask the Lord: 'Lord, take care of my bishop; take care of all the bishops, and send us bishops who are true witnesses, bishops who pray and bishops who help us, with their preaching, to understand the Gospel, to be sure that You, Lord, are alive, are among us'".

Before resuming the celebration, the Pope suggested, again, to pray "therefore for our bishops: it is a task of the faithful". In fact, 'the Church without a bishop cannot go on'. Here, then, that "the prayer of all of us for our bishops is an obligation, but an obligation of love, an obligation of children towards the Father, an obligation of brothers, so that the family may remain united in the confession of Jesus Christ, living and risen".

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 23/01/2016]

From the inside and in domestic

(Lk 13:18-21)

The two parables were set forth at a time of doubt about the Master’s proposal and the mission of his intimates.

A small group of faithful without social connection, could say something to the world?

Despite the commitment, women and men are struggling in all their ancient problems; they feel the weight of suffering and anguish: at first glance everything looks the same (disconnected, chaotic, fragmentary).

What is the point of the small hope of a few believers without a flashy heritage, for the cultural and civic concert - today global?

It seems that in the reality of the cosmos nothing changes... but the Granule has been thrown into the furrow of the earth.

It seems that human pasta is the same as always, but a Yeast is renewing it all, from within.

Jesus was like a seed planted in darkness, nothing sensational. And thrown like in the vegetable garden of the house [v.19 Greek text].

However, the mustard bean has an incredible and intrinsic evolutionary force.

Of course, the moment of growth ends with a very simple tree - a shrub like many, subjected to the weather... yet able to give rest and shelter to anyone who passes (v.19).

Then it is enough to put a pinch of yeast in the mass to make it completely ferment.

The yeast does not stand out, it is hidden: it disappears inside. And at that time everything was kept in a simple home bread chest.

Deepening life in the Spirit, we repeatedly realize that we have only seen in part: there is still much [more] to discover - in relation to the development of ordinary life.

Despite the megalomaniacs, the dimensions of the Kingdom of God, the universe of the soul, and the Mission, are not immediately and completely verifiable.

We have to enter a process, personal and all hidden - therefore authentically springy, convinced, and paradoxically wide open.

In fact, even «when the work is done, withdrawing is the Way of Heaven» [Tao Tê Ching, ix].

On the horizon of every journey there is always a new plant, another ‘genesis’, a different flowering in the time of the seasons; an unprecedented effervescence, to be introduced into the ancient arrangement already capitalized.

But seed and ferment work unknown.

Lack of spotlight, poor situation, smallness... are not obstacles to growth, but the condition.

What seems nothing becomes what Creation awaits.

It is seen hardly or at all - but giving time without forcing and hastening, it gets the cordial and domestic evolution that does not clash with God and the leasts.

To internalize and live the message:

What sensational cunning tried to destroy your land?

What conformity made you pale?

What subdued and calibrated Word on you has not produced hustle and bustle, but has regenerated your passion, and has expanded life?

[Tuesday 30th wk. in O.T.  October 27, 2026]

From within and in the domestic

(Lk 13:18-21)

The two parables were expounded at a time of doubt about the Master's proposal and the mission of his people.

Could a small group of believers with no social connection say anything to the world?

In spite of their commitment, women and men struggle with all their old problems, they feel the weight of suffering and anguish: at first glance everything seems the same, disconnected, chaotic, fragmentary.

What sense does the small hope of a few believers without a conspicuous heritage have for the cultural and civic concert - today global -?

It seems that in the reality of the cosmos nothing changes... but the Grain has been cast into the furrow of the earth.

It seems that the human dough is the same as ever, but a Leaven is renewing it all, from within.

Jesus was like a seed planted in the darkness, nothing sensational. And sown as in the kitchen garden [v.19 Greek text] where no sensational parades are cultivated, but simple potatoes, salad, aubergines, cucumbers, tomatoes - normal things, no big deal.

The mustard seed, however, has an incredible and intrinsic evolutionary power.

Of course, the moment of growth ends with a very simple sapling - a shrub like so many, subjected to the elements... yet able to give rest and shelter to anyone who passes by (v.19).

This brings the final miracle: 'a form of life with the flavour of the Gospel [...] that goes beyond the barriers of geography and space. Here [St Francis] declares blessed the one who loves the other when he is far from him, as much as if he were next to him'.

Although taken from expressions of the First Testament, in the features described by Lk the evangelical figure of the birds of the air illustrates "the essence of an open fraternity, which allows one to recognise, appreciate and love each person beyond physical proximity, beyond the place in the world where he or she was born or where he or she lives" [cf.]

The experience of the Saint of Assisi with a "heart without boundaries, capable of going beyond distances" introduces a logic of dialogue that avoids "any form of aggression or contention and also of living a humble and fraternal submission" - without ever imposing a "dialectical war" or "doctrines" [FT, 3-4].

So it is enough to put a pinch of yeast in the mass to make it fully ferment.

The leaven does not stand out, it is hidden: it disappears inside. And at that time everything was stored in a simple household cupboard.

As we delve deeper into life in the Spirit, we repeatedly realise that we have only seen in part: there is still much (more) to be discovered - in relation to the development of ordinary life.

So we guess it is basically within everyone's grasp; certainly not mysterious, nor can it be acquired in any of the disciplines of the arcane.

In short, megalomaniacs notwithstanding, the dimensions of the Kingdom of God, the universe of the soul, and the Mission are not something that can be verified immediately and completely.

One must enter into a process, personal and all-concealed - for this is authentically emergent, convinced, and paradoxically wide-open.

Indeed, even 'when the work is done, retreating is the Way to Heaven' [Tao Tê Ching, ix].

On the horizon of every path, there is always a new plant, another 'genesis', a different blossoming in the time of the seasons; a new effervescence, to be introduced into the already capitalised old arrangement.

This hidden radiance and vitality of the intuitive and missionary heart, does not belong to 'cultural' or collective rituals, nor to side duties.

Artificial passes make us prisoners of conditioning that blunt perception and dampen the mission for which we were born.

On the contrary, breaking out of the herd that gives birth to the usual pale (only drugged) models of interpretation will be an opportunity to discover something new.

We will also astound ourselves with our own intimate propulsive capacities - accompanied only by the Friend who sees in the secret.

Seed and ferment work unknown.

Lack of spotlight, poor situation, littleness... these are not obstacles to growth, but the condition.

What seems nothing becomes what Creation awaits.

It is barely visible or not at all - but by giving time without forcing and rushing, it achieves the friendly and domestic evolution that does not clash with God and the least.

The Church to come will not be intrusive: it will not demand adherence [on pain of exclusion].

That is why the dynamism of growth will be out of scale, but only in terms of human and hospitable capacities (v.19), not in terms of excited magnificence.

Deprived of clamorous, resounding and sought-after magnificence, the new divine Bride will be caught in the attitude of fullness. But only because it will correspond to the project of complete life that dwells in our breasts, and we mysteriously sense it to be ours.

We will understand: it will make everyone feel good.

The insecure will become decisive, the loser will be transformed by Grace into the wise. We will understand that to accept the Word and correspond to one's personal Vocation will not be terrifying, but regenerating.

Those who do not wrap themselves up but will shift their thoughts, point everything, will bring out their essence.

We will realise that our being is already calibrated on innate, subdued, personally-matched plots.

In the Spirit and in real life, we will discover the qualitative and special Magnificent that the more conformist and hasty, less dialogic or capable of listening, do not even remotely imagine could excel.

To internalise and live the message:

What sensational cunning has attempted to destroy your land?

What conformity - even of clan - has made you pale?

What subdued Word calibrated to you did not produce turmoil, but regenerated your passion, and expanded your life?