Our blindness, between religious sense and Faith

(Lk 18:35-43)

The blind man without a name and crouched at the edges represents us: he is not biologically blind, but one who adjust himself at random.

He cannot «look up» [the key verb to vv.41-43 is «aná-blèpein»] because he does not cultivate ideals; he is satisfied with what gives the contour, which anesthetizes him.

Consequence: the victims of an indolent ideology can confuse the Son of God who donates all of himself and transmits vitality, with the ‘son of David’ (vv.38-39) - who does not convey, but rather takes away life.

The misunderstanding has serious consequences.

Initially every seeker of God risks exchanging the Lord for a phenomenal superman and captain who blesses and favors friends e.g. in their expectations of tranquility, lack of concern and mediocre stasis.

It is a huge defect of sight, because the criteria of wise and solid existence are reversed at all - risking to stick life in a puddle; at most, dragging it to the ground.

If one finds oneself at this level of myopia, it is better to «lift one’s gaze» folded over one’s navel, for short-term petty interests.

Who does not "see well" becomes a man of habit, every day is accompanied to the same places by the same people.

He stands still, «sitting» (v.35) at the edge of a road where people proceed and does not limit as much as him to survive resigned, without snaps.

Such clumsy ones [by choice] - everything expect from the recognition of others; they only live of that. And all they do is repeating identical words and gestures.

Their horizon at hand does not allow them to enter the flow of the Way, where people get busy: building, evolving, expressing themselves, providing for less fortunate sisters and brothers.

An existence dragged to the margins of any interest that is not one’s own money pouch.

These persons live on the movement of others; they are full of small benevolences and opinions bartered by those who pass, for listlessness never re-examined and made their own.

The Word of the Nazarene [in the language of the Gospels the epithet "being of Nazareth" meant "revolutionary, hot-headed, subversive"] triggers the listless.

Personal contact with Jesus corrected his gaze, made him recover the ideal optics - transmitting a diametrically opposite model of a successful man.

In short, Jesus corrects the inert myopia of those who are fond of their ‘place’.

Religiosity or personal Faith: it’s a decisive choice. To start away (from there), reinvent life, abandon the mantle [cf. Mc 10,50] on which common comments and offerings were collected.

Opening the eyes and «rising them up», as an already divine man would do. Pocketing nothing but pearls of light, instead of alms.

In such wise, the Gospel invites a perspective view, which does not fit.

The ‘Fratelli Tutti’ encyclical also proposes visual angles that provoke decision and action: new, invigorating, visionary, daring eyes, filled with 'passage' and Hope.

On muddy roads you can get dirty and you are uncertain, but there we all can proceed in wisdom: on the way that belongs to us; in the movement of the Priesthood of Christ.

With healthy ‘perception’.

[Monday 33rd wk. in O.T.  November 18, 2024]

The movement of the priesthood of Christ

(Lk 18:35-43)

The encyclical Brothers All invites a perspective look, which does not adapt.

Pope Francis proposes views that provoke decision and action: new, energetic, visionary eyes, filled with "passage" and Hope.

It "speaks to us of a reality that is rooted in the depths of the human being, regardless of the concrete circumstances and historical conditioning in which he lives. It speaks to us of a thirst, of an aspiration, of a yearning for fullness, for a fulfilled life, of a measuring oneself against what is great, against what fills the heart and lifts the spirit towards great things, such as truth, goodness and beauty, justice and love. [...] Hope is bold, it knows how to look beyond personal comfort, the small securities and compensations that narrow the horizon, to open itself to great ideals that make life more beautiful and dignified" (n.55) [quoted from a greeting to young people in Havana, September 2015].

Distraught, Paul VI admitted:

"Yes, there are many mediocre Christians; and not only because they are weak or lacking in formation, but because they want to be mediocre and because they have their so-called good reasons of the right middle, of ne quid nimis, as if the Gospel were a school of moral indolence, or as if it authorised serving conformity. Is this not hypocrisy? Inconsistency? Relativism according to the wind that blows?" [passim].

It sounds like a portrait of the shabby, blind life that sometimes catches us: 'nothing too much', 'never the excessive'.

A sort of Don Abbondio-like existence, in contrast to which Manzoni delineates the icon of the man of Faith - who precisely stands out over the mediocre devotee - in the solemn and decisive figure of Cardinal Federigo.

A prelate who instead 'had to fight with the gentlemen of ne quid nimis, who, in everything, would have wanted him to stay within the limits, that is, within their limits'.

Not the reassured qualunquism of a pious coward and situationist, who pretends not to see, is content with his half-assed niche; he sits in the shabby threshing-floor of the minimum union, he muddles along and does not expose himself.

The passage in Lk is a teaching from the very first forms of baptismal liturgy reserved for new believers, called photismòi-illuminati [those who from the darkness of pagan life finally opened their eyes to the Light].

The passage illustrates what happens to a person when he meets Christ and receives his existential orientation: he abandons established but not personally reworked positions and becomes a critical witness.

The narrative is set on the comparison between material downward gazes (such as those of pagans or arrogant followers) and open gazes, capable of lifting man's eye from the fetters of semblance, habit and destructive outer or inner powers.

Comparison brings to the surface what counts in life, what has weight and is not swept away by the impediments of an empty spirituality, enraptured or attracted by epidermic cravings; harnessed to the trappings of social roles or cultural and spiritual conformisms - by customs inherited but not sifted.

In short: the Lord wants us to understand that conformism to the environment and empty devotion inculcate a swampy, lifeless, irrelevant understanding.

What, then, is needed to "see" with the perception of God, beyond appearances, and to lift oneself up from a grey life of alms-giving, literally on the ground? And how to heal the vision of those who cannot see?

Even the 'neighbours' have more or less clear expectations of how to enter Christ's priesthood movement.

The disciples themselves are influenced by an often indifferent crowd around them that expects little but quiet, leisure and favours; and that presses for entry 'into their bounds'.

The nameless blind man crouching at the edge represents us: he is not biologically blind, but one who adjusts himself haphazardly.

He is unable to "look up" [the key-verb in vv.41-43 is "aná-blèpein"] because he does not cultivate ideals; he is content with what passes the outline, which anaesthetises him.

Conditioned by false teachers and approximate spiritual guides, he too is blocked by a spirit of lethargy that aims his existence downwards.

Consequence: the victims of an indolent ideology may confuse the Son of God who gives everything of himself and transmits vitality, with the son of David (v.38) - who does not give, but takes away life.

Jesus resembles and refers to the Father, not to a skilful and quick-witted ruler, who knows how to tame the masses [a figure of a devious or violent style of domination, and of continuous revenge].

The misunderstanding has serious consequences.

Initially, every seeker of God is in danger of mistaking the Lord for a superman and phenomenal captain who blesses and favours his friends in their expectations of tranquillity, nonchalance and mediocre stasis.This is quite a flaw in one's eyesight, because one reverses the criteria of a wise and solid existence at all - risking sticking it in a puddle; at best, dragging it along the ground.

If one finds oneself at this level of short-sightedness, it is better to 'lift one's gaze' folded on one's own navel, for petty petty gain.

He who does not 'see well' becomes a man of habit, he is taken to the same places every day by the same people.

He stands still, 'sitting' (v.35) at the edge of a road where people go on and do not, like him, just survive resignedly, without jerks.

[While I was writing this, one of my high school professors - a person of great faith and dynamism - sent me an Indian proverb: 'if you see everything grey in front of you, move the elephant'].

Such clumsy people by choice - they expect everything from the recognition of others; they live only by begging. And they only repeat words and gestures that are always identical.

Their horizon at hand does not allow them to enter the flow of the Way, where people get busy building, evolving, expressing themselves, providing for their less fortunate brothers and sisters.

An existence dragged along the fringes of any interest other than one's own neglectful pouch.

Yet they are endowed with an old-fashioned religious sense; but precisely because of this - lacking the leap of faith - centred on themselves and the ideas that have been passed on.

They live on the movement of others; they live on petty benevolences and opinions bartered by those who pass by, out of listlessness never re-examined and made their own.

The Word of the Nazarene [in the language of the Gospels, the epithet 'being from Nazareth' meant 'revolutionary, hot-headed, subversive'] triggers the listless.

His new attitude becomes rather that of the 'infant'. He engages in an industrious, creative, practical - futuristic model of life.

He resurrects dynamically, getting rid of the rags on which he expected others to lay something in his favour.

The old garment ends up in the dust - thrown away as in the ancient baptismal liturgies: at any age he undertakes, outclassing petty securities.

He changes his life, looks it in the face; even though he knows he is complicating it, making it challenging and countercultural.

Personal contact with Jesus has corrected his gaze, made him regain his ideal perspective.

In this way, he understands the primordial and regenerating - indeed, recreating - sense of the Newness of God.

The face-to-face encounter conveyed to him a diametrically opposed model of a successful man; not subservient to tacticism.

In short, Jesus corrects the inert shortsightedness of those who are fond of their place.

"The wind that blows" infuses us with a lethal poison: the renunciatory poison of identifying-as-we-are, which rhymes with giving up and growing old.

Recovery from such blindness cannot be a... Miracle! Religiosity or Faith: it is a diriment choice.

It means lazily adapting to fashions of circumstance or the old dress of already 'said' behaviour and usual friendships, just waiting for some solution-lightning that does not involve too much...

That is to say, to depart from there, to reinvent one's life, to abandon the cloak [cf. Mk 10:50] on which comments and common oblations were collected.

Opening his eyes and "lifting them up", as an already divine man would do. Pocketing nothing but pearls of light, instead of alms.

On muddy roads we may get dirty and be uncertain, but we can proceed with knowledge: on the path that belongs to us; in the movement of the priesthood of Christ. With sound perception.

For - as in this episode - the Gospels not infrequently insist on the (devoutly absurd) criterion that the enemy of God is not sin, but the average, passive life of the now identified and placed.

To internalise and live the message:

Did the encounter with Christ remove like a veil from your eyes? Did you seize the opportunity to be born as a new man, and lift your gaze? Or do you remain myopic and inert?

The Passover

One day Jesus, approaching the city of Jericho, performed the miracle of restoring sight to a blind man begging by the roadside (cf. Lk 18:35-43). Today we want to grasp the significance of this sign because it also touches us directly. The evangelist Luke says that the blind man was sitting by the roadside begging (cf. v. 35). A blind man in those days - but also until not so long ago - could only live by begging. The figure of this blind man represents many people who, even today, find themselves marginalised because of physical or other disadvantage. He is separated from the crowd, he sits there while people pass by busy, absorbed in their own thoughts and many things... And the street, which can be a place of encounter, for him instead is a place of loneliness. So many crowds passing by...And he is alone.

It is a sad image of an outcast, especially against the backdrop of the city of Jericho, the beautiful and lush oasis in the desert. We know that it was in Jericho that the people of Israel arrived at the end of the long exodus from Egypt: that city represents the gateway to the promised land. We remember the words that Moses spoke on that occasion: "If there be among thee any of thy brethren that are in need in one of thy cities in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, neither shalt thou shut thy hand from thy brother in need. Since the needy shall never be lacking in the land, then I give you this command and say to you: Open your hand generously to your poor and needy brother in your land" (Deut 15:7, 11). The contrast between this recommendation of God's Law and the situation described in the Gospel is jarring: while the blind man cries out for Jesus, the people rebuke him to keep quiet, as if he had no right to speak. They have no compassion for him; on the contrary, they feel annoyance at his cries. How often do we, when we see so many people in the street - people in need, people who are sick, people who have no food - feel annoyance. How often, when we are faced with so many refugees and displaced persons, do we feel annoyance. It is a temptation we all have. All of us, even me! That is why the Word of God admonishes us, reminding us that indifference and hostility make us blind and deaf, prevent us from seeing our brothers and sisters and do not allow us to recognise the Lord in them. Indifference and hostility. And sometimes this indifference and hostility also becomes aggression and insult: "but drive them all away!", "put them somewhere else!". This aggression is what people did when the blind man shouted: 'but you go away, come on, don't talk, don't shout'.

We note an interesting detail. The Evangelist says that someone from the crowd explained to the blind man the reason for all this by saying: "Jesus, the Nazarene, is passing by!" (v. 37). The passing of Jesus is indicated with the same verb used in the book of Exodus to speak of the passing of the exterminating angel who saves the Israelites in the land of Egypt (cf. Ex 12:23). It is the "passage" of the Passover, the beginning of deliverance: when Jesus passes by, there is always deliverance, there is always salvation! To the blind man, therefore, it is as if his Passover were being announced. Without allowing himself to be intimidated, the blind man cries out to Jesus several times, recognising him as the Son of David, the awaited Messiah who, according to the prophet Isaiah, would open the eyes of the blind (cf. Is 35:5). Unlike the crowd, this blind man sees with the eyes of faith. Thanks to it, his plea has a powerful efficacy. Indeed, on hearing this, "Jesus stopped and commanded them to bring him to him" (v. 40). In doing so, Jesus takes the blind man off the side of the road and places him in the centre of attention of his disciples and the crowd. Let us also think, when we have been in bad situations, even sinful situations, how it was Jesus himself who took us by the hand and took us off the side of the road and gave us salvation. Thus a twofold passage is realised. First: the people had proclaimed good news to the blind man, but wanted nothing to do with him; now Jesus forces everyone to become aware that the good news implies putting the one who was excluded at the centre of their path. Secondly, in turn, the blind man could not see, but his faith opens to him the way to salvation, and he finds himself in the midst of those who have gone out into the streets to see Jesus. Brothers and sisters, the passing of the Lord is an encounter of mercy that unites all around Him so that we can recognise those in need of help and consolation. In our lives too, Jesus passes by; and when Jesus passes by, and I notice it, it is an invitation to draw closer to Him, to be better, to be a better Christian, to follow Jesus.

Jesus turns to the blind man and asks him: "What do you want me to do for you?" (v. 41). These words of Jesus are striking: the Son of God now stands before the blind man as a humble servant. He, Jesus, God, says: "But what do you want me to do for you? How do you want me to serve you?" God makes himself the servant of sinful man. And the blind man responds to Jesus no longer by calling him "Son of David", but "Lord", the title that the Church from the beginning applies to the Risen Jesus. The blind man asks to see again and his wish is granted: "Have sight again! Your faith has saved you" (v. 42). He has shown his faith by calling on Jesus and absolutely wanting to meet Him, and this has brought him salvation as a gift. Thanks to faith, he can now see and, above all, feel loved by Jesus. This is why the account ends by reporting that the blind man "began to follow him glorifying God" (v. 43): he becomes a disciple. From beggar to disciple, this is also our path: we are beggars, all of us. We are always in need of salvation. And all of us, every day, must take this step: from beggar to disciple. And so, the blind man sets out after the Lord, becoming part of his community. He whom they wanted to silence, now bears loud witness to his encounter with Jesus of Nazareth, and "all the people, seeing, gave praise to God" (v. 43). A second miracle occurs: what happened to the blind man makes the people finally see as well. The same light illuminates them all, uniting them in the prayer of praise. Thus Jesus pours out his mercy on all those he meets: he calls them, brings them to himself, gathers them, heals and enlightens them, creating a new people that celebrates the wonders of his merciful love. Let us also be called by Jesus, and let us be healed by Jesus, forgiven by Jesus, and go after Jesus praising God. So be it!

[Pope Francis, General Audience 15 June 2016]

These favorite children of the heavenly Father are like the blind man in the Gospel, Bartimaeus (Mk 10: 46) at the gates of Jericho. Jesus the Nazarene passed that way. It is the road that leads to Jerusalem, where the Paschal Event will take place, his sacrificial Easter, towards which the Messiah goes for us. It is the road of his exodus which is also ours: the only way that leads to the land of reconciliation, justice and peace. On that road, the Lord meets Bartimaeus, who has lost his sight. Their paths cross, they become a single path. The blind man calls out, full of faith "Jesus, son of David, have pity on me!". Jesus replies: "Call him!", and adds: "What do you want me to do for you?". God is light and the Creator of light. Man is the son of light, made to see the light, but has lost his sight, and is forced to beg. The Lord, who became a beggar for us, walks next to him: thirsting for our faith and our love. "What do you want me to do for you?". God knows the answer, but asks; he wants the man to speak. He wants the man to stand up, to find the courage to ask for what is needed for his dignity. The Father wants to hear in the son's own voice the free choice to see the light once again, the light, the reason for Creation. "Master, I want to see!" And Jesus says to him: "Go your way; your faith has saved you'. Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way" (Mk 10: 51-52). 

Dear Brothers, we give thanks because this "mysterious encounter between our poverty and the greatness" of God was achieved also in the Synodal Assembly for Africa that has ended today. God renewed his call: "Take courage! Get up..." (Mk 10: 49). And the Church in Africa, through its Pastors, having come from all the countries in the continent, from Madagascar and the other islands, has embraced the message of hope and light to walk on the path that leads to the Kingdom of God. "Go your way; your faith has saved you" (Mk 10: 52). Yes, faith in Jesus Christ when properly understood and experienced guides men and peoples to liberty in truth, or, to use the three words of the Synodal theme, to reconciliation, to justice and to peace. Bartimaeus who, healed, follows Jesus along the road, is the image of that humanity that, illuminated by faith, walks on the path towards the promised land. Bartimaeus becomes in turn a witness of the light, telling and demonstrating in the first person about being healed, renewed, regenerated. This is the Church in the world: a community of reconciled persons, operators of justice and peace; "salt and light" amongst the society of men and nations. Therefore the Synod strongly confirmed and manifested this that the Church is the Family of God, in which there can be no divisions based on ethnic, language or cultural groups. Moving witnesses showed us that, even in the darkest moments of human history, the Holy Spirit is at work and transforming the hearts of the victims and the persecutors, that they may know each other as brothers. The reconciled Church is the potent leaven of reconciliation in each country and in the whole African continent. 

The Second Reading offers another perspective: the Church, the community that follows Christ on the path of love, has a sacerdotal form. The category of priesthood, as the interpretive key of the Mystery of Christ and, consequently, of the Church, was introduced in the New Testament, by the author of the Letter to the Hebrews. His intuition originates from Psalm 110, quoted in today's words, where the Lord God assures the Messiah with a solemn promise: "You are a priest for ever of the order of Melchizedek" (Ps 110: 4). A reference which leads to another, taken from Psalm 2, in which the Messiah announces the Lord's decree which says about him: "You are my son, today have I fathered you" (Ps 2: 7). From these texts derives the attribution to Jesus Christ of a sacerdotal character, not in the generic sense, rather "of the order of Melchizedek", in other words the supreme and eternal priesthood, of divine not human origins. If each supreme priest "is taken from among men and made their representative before God" (Heb 5: 1), He alone, Christ, the Son of God, possesses a ministry that can be identified to his own person, a singular and transcendent ministry, on which universal salvation relies. Christ transmitted this ministry of his to the Church through the Holy Spirit; therefore the Church has in itself, in each of its members, because of Baptism, a sacerdotal characteristic. However here is a decisive aspect the priesthood of Jesus Christ is no longer primarily ritual, rather it is existential. The dimension of the rite is not abolished, but, as clearly seen in the institution of the Eucharist, takes its meaning from the Paschal Mystery, which completes the ancient sacrifices and surpasses them. Thus contemporarily a new sacrifice, a new ministry and a new temple are born, and all three coincide with the Mystery of Jesus Christ. United to him through the Sacraments, the Church prolongs its saving action, allowing man to be healed, like the blindman Bartimaeus. Thus the ecclesial community, in the steps of its Master and Lord, is called to walk decisively along the path of service, to share the condition of men and women in its time, to witness to all the love of God and thus sow hope.

[Pope Benedict, homily for the closing of the Special Synod for Africa 25 October 2009]

Today's Gospel reading [...] reminds us of the episode of the healing of the blind man of Jericho. The Gospel also reveals his name: Bartimaeus, and reconstructs his plea-cry: "Son of David, Jesus, have mercy on me" (Mk 10:47). Finally he relates his moving plea: "Rabbi, that I may regain my sight" (Mk 10:51). And Jesus' answer is not long in coming: "Go, your faith has saved you" (Mk 10:52).

Here, one of those signs that Jesus of Nazareth performed during his public ministry. It is, this, a particularly eloquent sign: by restoring sight to the blind man, Jesus sheds light on his life. The entire mission of Christ is full of this meaning: He casts divine light on human life through the Gospel. In the light of Christ's words, human life acquires meaning: the ultimate meaning, which also illuminates the different spheres of this earthly life.

[Pope John Paul II, homily 27 October 1991]

An invitation not to "auction off our Christian identity card", not to conform to the spirit of the world, which when it prevails leads to apostasy and persecution. Pope Francis identified this when commenting on the liturgy of the word on Monday morning, 16 November, during the customary celebration of Mass in the chapel of Casa Santa Marta.

The Pontiff dedicated his reflection entirely to the first reading, taken from the first book of Maccabees (1:10-15.41-43.54-57 62-64), summarising its contents "with three words: worldliness, apostasy, persecution". Rereading it, Francis noted "that the passage begins like this: 'In those days a perverse root came forth'". And he explained how "the image of the root that is under the ground, that is not seen, that seems to do no harm, but then grows and shows, makes one see, its own negative reality", is also present in the letter to the Hebrews, whose "author admonished his disciples in the same way: 'Let no poisonous root spring up or grow among you, that causes evils and infects so many'".

In this regard, the Pope described "the phenomenology of the root", which "grows, always grows", even when - as in the case of the passage under examination - it may appear to be a "reasonable root: "Let us go and make an alliance with the nations around us; why so many differences? Because since we separated from them, many evils have befallen us. Let us go to them, we are equal'". And so, he went on to describe, "some of the people took the initiative and went to the king who gave them power to introduce the institutions of the nations. Where? In the chosen people, that is, in the Church of that time'.

But, Francis immediately warned, in that action 'there is worldliness. We do what the world does, the same: we auction off our identity card; we are equal to all'. Just like the men of Israel, who "began to do this: they built a gymnasium in Jerusalem, according to the customs of the nations, the pagan customs; they cancelled the signs of circumcision, that is, they denied the faith, and turned away from the holy covenant; they joined the nations and sold themselves to do evil". But, the Pontiff warned, precisely 'this, which seemed so reasonable, - "we are like everyone, we are normal" - became destruction'. Because, he reiterated, 'this is worldliness. This is the path of worldliness, of that poisonous, perverse root'.

In this regard, Francis confided how he was always struck by the fact 'that the Lord, at the Last Supper, prayed for the unity of his own and asked the Father to free them from every spirit of the world, from every worldliness, because worldliness destroys identity; worldliness leads to the single thought, there is no difference'.

And the first consequence of this is apostasy. The Pope demonstrated this by continuing his rereading of the passage: "Then the king prescribed throughout his kingdom that all should form one people - single thinking, worldliness - and each should abandon his own customs. All the people complied with the king's orders; even many Israelites accepted his worship: they sacrificed to idols and profaned the Sabbath". Hence "apostasy. That is, worldliness leads to single-mindedness and apostasy. Differences are not allowed". We end up becoming "all the same. And in the history of the Church we have seen, I think of one instance, that religious festivals have had their names changed - the Lord's Christmas has another name - in order to erase identity'.

Moreover, one must not forget, the reading seems to say, that apostasy is followed by persecution. "The king," the Pontiff continued, "raised up on the altar an abomination of devastation. Even in the neighbouring cities of Judah they erected altars and burned incense on the doors of houses and in the squares; they tore up the books of the law that they could find and threw them into the fire. If, with anyone, the book of the covenant was found and if anyone obeyed the law, the sentence of the king condemned him to death". This is precisely 'persecution', which 'begins from a root' even 'small, and ends in the abomination of desolation'. After all, "this is the deception of worldliness". And therefore at the Last Supper Jesus asked the Father: "I do not ask you to take them out of the world, but keep them from the world", that is, "from this mentality, from this humanism, which comes to take the place of the true man, Jesus Christ"; from this worldliness "which comes to take away our Christian identity and leads us to the single thought: "Everyone does this, why not us?".

Here then is the relevance of today's passage, which "in these times, must make us think" about what our identity is. We must ask ourselves: "Is it Christian or worldly? Or do I call myself Christian because as a child I was baptised, or was I born in a Christian country, where everyone is Christian?" According to Francis it is necessary to find an answer to these questions, because "worldliness that enters slowly" then "grows, justifies itself and infects". How? "It grows like that root" mentioned in the reading; "it justifies itself - "let's do like all people, we are not so different" - it always seeks a justification, and in the end it infects, and so many evils come from there".

At the end of his homily, the Pope pointed out how the entire "liturgy, in these last days of the liturgical year", makes us think about these things, and in particular today he tells us "in the name of the Lord: beware of poisonous roots, of perverse roots that lead you away from the Lord and make you lose your Christian identity". In short, it is an exhortation to keep away "from worldliness" and to ask in prayer, in particular, that the Church be guarded "from all forms of worldliness. May the Church always have the identity laid out by Jesus Christ; may we all have the identity" received in baptism; "and may this identity not be thrown out" just to "be like everyone else, for reasons of 'normality'". Ultimately, Francis concluded, "may the Lord give us the grace to maintain and guard our Christian identity against the spirit of worldliness that always grows, justifies itself and infects."

[Pope Francis, St. Martha, in L'Osservatore Romano 16-17/11/2015]

«Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my Words shall not pass away»

(Dan 12:1-3; Ps 15; Heb 10:11-14.18; Mk 13:24-32)

Even in the age of telematic progress, the disappearance of economic levels and many ancient securities gives rise to confusion and apprehension.

If everything seems to be called into question, we ask ourselves: how do we relate to the facts that alarm us, and how do we involve ourselves in the chronicle of a world shaken by upheaval?

Ancient man protests the danger of degradation, or lowers his head, humiliated.

Person of Faith takes note; does not lower himself. Rather, strives to discern the genius of time in the folds of history.

Thus we sharpen our inner eye - and recognising the new flashes of life, we raise the gaze.

We want the All, we are not satisfied with monochromatic nothingness.

At the time of Jesus, the 'apocalyptics' held the view that the world's affairs were turning to the worst.

A land in which the lambs are destined to succumb before the beasts can only regress towards increasing disunity and social collapse.

But out of such corruption - and having ascertained man's incapacity - God would bring forth new heavens and a new earth; for each one a propitious, luxuriant, flourishing reality, governed directly by the Lord (the only one who can be trusted).

The encouragement in the First Reading is set in this framework: no tear, no sacrifice will fade away; our involvement - even in fatigue or mockery - is not destined to fall on deaf ears.

This will also be the result of a renewed awareness: only God humanises the earth.

The biblical author conveys this message through the icon of 'Michael', whose name in Hebrew מִיכָאֵל [mì-chà-Él] means «Who (is) like God?».

Rhetorical question to say that no one is like God: no substitute can replace or equal Him.

When the Angel will have the upper hand - that is, when that consciousness takes over - people will understand in all its facets that only the Eternal One makes the world livable.

He will lift us from the sense of contamination or qualunquism that accompanies the believer's journey.

And not only will we not allow ourselves to be seized by the panic of external reversals, but neither by an impression of unworthiness linked to the religious perception of sin [cf. Second Reading].

Calamities, breakdowns, insecurities, in Christ will be perceived not as alarming and distressing facts - for the drama of an agonising world that would drag us down to corruption - but as times and places even favourable to the solution of real problems.

People dragged along by chaotic impulses errs, but the person of Faith perceives external upsets as great opportunities for growth.

The Apostle does not allow himself to be gripped by the pangs of a vital birth.

He experiences the discomforts, transforming them into energy; moulded into opportunities for “therapy”, growth, and a return to the essentials.

Here, the seemingly adverse overhangs become the motive and engine of Exodus. A path that cannot be undermined by the anguish of imperfection.

In this way, both the generically pious man and the person animated by Faith can be considered mothers and fathers of the Future...

But with one substantial difference:

Turmoil of reality is an opportune moment to discover new inner strengths.

If habit has suffocated us, Providence “intervenes” even by throwing everything up in the air - because it sees us as barren.

For this reason, the authentic believer is always one step ahead and is different from the one-sided, devout or sophisticated pious man.

He puts neuroses in the background - and does not wait for Future, nor delegates it... but 'reads' it, anticipates it, builds it.

[33rd Sunday (B), 17 November 2024]

«Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my Words shall not pass away»

(Dan 12:1-3; Ps 15; Heb 10:11-14.18; Mk 13:24-32)

"The expression 'heaven and earth' is frequent in the Bible to indicate the whole universe, the entire cosmos. Jesus declares that all this is destined to "pass away". Not only the earth, but also heaven, which is understood here in a cosmic sense, not as a synonym for God. Sacred Scripture knows no ambiguity: all creation is marked by finitude, including the elements deified by ancient mythologies: there is no confusion between creation and the Creator, but a clear distinction. With such a clear distinction, Jesus affirms that his words 'shall not pass away', that is, they are on God's side and therefore eternal. Although pronounced in the concreteness of his earthly existence, they are prophetic words par excellence, as Jesus states in another place addressing his heavenly Father: 'The words that you gave to me I have given to them. They have received them and truly know that I came forth from you and have believed that you sent me" (Jn 17:8). In a famous parable, Christ compares himself to the sower and explains that the seed is the Word (cf. Mk 4:14): those who hear it, accept it and bear fruit (cf. Mk 4:20) are part of the Kingdom of God, that is, they live under his lordship; they remain in the world, but they are no longer of the world; they carry within them a seed of eternity, a principle of transformation that is already manifested now". (Pope Benedict, Angelus 15 November 2009)

Even in the age of telematic progress, the fading away of economic levels and many ancient certainties gives rise to confusion and apprehension.

If everything seems to be called into question, we ask ourselves: how do we relate to the facts that alarm us, and how do we involve ourselves in the chronicle of a world shattered by upheaval?

The ancient man protests the danger of moral and doctrinal degradation, or lowers his head, humiliated.

The man of Faith takes note; he does not lower himself. Rather, he strives to discern the genius of the age in the folds of history.

Thus he sharpens his inner eye - and recognising the new flashes of life, he raises his gaze.

He wants the All, he is not content with monochromatic nothingness.

At the time of Jesus, the 'apocalyptics' held the view that the world's affairs were turning to the worst.

A land in which the lambs are destined to succumb before the beasts can only regress towards increasing disunity and social collapse.

But out of such corruption - and having ascertained man's incapacity - God would bring forth new heavens and a new earth; for everyone a propitious, flourishing reality, governed directly by the Lord (the only one who can be trusted).

The encouragement in the First Reading is set in this framework: no tear, no sacrifice will fade away; our involvement - even in fatigue or mockery - is not destined to fall on deaf ears.

This will also be the result of a renewed awareness: only God humanises the earth.

The biblical author conveys this message through the icon of Michael, whose name in Hebrew מִיכָאֵל (mì-chà-Él) means "who like God?".

A rhetorical question to say that no one is like God: no substitute can replace or equal Him.

When Michael takes over - that is, when he takes over this consciousness - men will understand in all its facets that only the Eternal One makes the world livable.

Thus they will reject the ancient fixations, as well as the more recent and sophisticated idols, which degrade and dehumanise the earth.

Such is the authenticity of the Face of God.

He will lift us up from the sense of contamination or qualunquism that accompanies the believer's itinerary.

And not only will we not allow ourselves to be seized by the panic of external upheavals, but neither by an impression of unworthiness linked to the religious perception of sin (cf. Second Reading).

Calamities, upheavals, insecurities, in Christ will be perceived not as alarming and distressing facts - because of the drama of an agonising world that would drag us down to corruption - but as times and places even favourable to the solution of real problems.

A people dragged along by chaotic impulses errs, but the man of Faith perceives external upheavals as great opportunities for growth, which cannot even be shaken by the anguish of imperfection.

Both the generically pious man and the person animated by Faith can be considered mothers and fathers of the Future...

But with one substantial difference:

Reality's upheavals are an opportunity to discover new inner strengths.

The bigoted man, on the other hand, matches the hedonist: both are but the paradoxical product of an external civilisation.

This can be seen from how they manifest themselves: obsessively attached to role, to place, to visible models to chase (conditioned by the search for shining circumstances).Despite appearances, the respectable devotion that deprives itself of the living and actual authenticity of Christ does not extract people from the banality of chasing offices and titles.

In archaic religions, in fact, or in the world of disembodied and incompetent utopianism, woe betide the already emblazoned!

They are not moved from situations (even of ecclesial ministry) to which they are accustomed and which count.

(It would be a crime of lese majesty to move them, even after decades in office and whatever they have done).

Today, all it would take is the slightest periscope to grasp that overwhelming impulses are coming into play to challenge situations that we imagined to be concluded and perfect.

Such prods serve to make us reflect on what we want: they reveal what we are.

Our reassuring identifications suddenly evaporate, because they are fossilised on goals that do not belong to us deeply... they were not 'ours'.

If habit has suffocated us, Providence also 'intervenes' by throwing everything away - because it sees us as barren.

The shrunken person is also incapable of achieving the true results that God dreams up on his own behalf.

Dragging his life along, the shrunken person revels in the usual barnyard peckishness, going round and round only.

But Someone within and without knows much more than we do.

As if to give us a cascade of authenticity, the Lord introduces into the events that trouble us a flow of fresh energy that tends to free us from the fetters of old ambitions and patterns.

Habit and task quietism have not allowed us to discover ourselves, let alone others and the world.

So it doesn't matter if established situations crumble and many old relationships - public and private - ruin.

To turn over a new leaf, one must stop this chasing after ancestral expectations and (paradoxically) welcome the crisis - danger and possibility.

Fundamental is to perceive in the problematic nature of events the opportunity for a coup de grâce that overrides epidermal dreams; those that compel us to act so much.

After all, it is the upheavals that solve the real problems and put "things back in place".

For this reason, the authentic believer is always one step ahead and differs from the pious one-sided, devout or sophisticated man.

He does not wait for Future, nor does he delegate it... but builds it.

The nothing and the everything

"In this Sunday's Gospel passage (cf. Mk 13:24-32), the Lord wants to instruct his disciples about future events. It is not primarily a discourse on the end of the world, rather it is an invitation to live well in the present, to be vigilant and always ready for when we will be called to account for our lives. Jesus says: "In those days, after that tribulation, the sun will be darkened, the moon will no longer give its light, the stars will fall from heaven" (vv. 24-25). These words make us think of the first page of the Book of Genesis, the account of creation: the sun, the moon, the stars, which from the beginning of time shine in their order and bring light, the sign of life, here are described in their decay, as they plunge into darkness and chaos, the sign of the end. Instead, the light that will shine on that final day will be unique and new: it will be that of the Lord Jesus who will come in glory with all the saints. In that meeting we will finally see his Face in the full light of the Trinity; a Face radiant with love, before which every human being will also appear in total truth.

Human history, like the personal history of each one of us, cannot be understood as a mere succession of words and deeds that do not make sense. Neither can it be interpreted in the light of a fatalistic vision, as if everything were already predetermined according to a destiny that subtracts any space of freedom, preventing us from making choices that are the fruit of a true decision. Rather, in today's Gospel, Jesus says that the history of peoples and that of individuals have an end and a goal to reach: the definitive encounter with the Lord. We do not know the time nor the manner in which it will take place; the Lord reiterated that "no one knows, neither the angels in heaven nor the Son" (v. 32); everything is kept in the secret of the Father's mystery. We know, however, a fundamental principle with which we must contend: "Heaven and earth will pass away," says Jesus, "but my words will not pass away" (v. 31). The real crucial point is this. On that day, each of us will have to understand whether the Word of the Son of God has illuminated our personal existence, or whether we have turned our backs on it, preferring to trust in our own words. More than ever, it will be the moment when we must definitively abandon ourselves to the Father's love and entrust ourselves to his mercy.

No one can escape this moment, none of us! The cleverness, which we often put into our behaviour to accredit the image we want to offer, will no longer serve; Similarly, the power of money and economic means with which we presumptuously claim to buy everything and everyone, will no longer be used. We shall take with us nothing but what we have accomplished in this life by believing his Word: the all and nothing of what we have lived or neglected to accomplish. We will only take with us what we have given.

Let us invoke the intercession of the Virgin Mary, so that the realisation of our impermanence on earth and of our limitation does not cause us to sink into anguish, but calls us to responsibility towards ourselves, towards our neighbour, towards the whole world". (Pope Francis, Angelus 18 November 2018)

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

We have reached the last two weeks of the liturgical year. Let us thank the Lord who has once again granted us to make this journey of faith old and ever new in the great spiritual family of the Church! It is a precious gift, which enables us to live the mystery of Christ in history, receiving in the furrows of our personal and community existence the seed of the word of God, a seed of eternity that transforms this world from within and opens it to the Kingdom of Heaven. This year, we have been accompanied along our itinerary through the Sunday biblical Readings by St Mark's Gospel, which today presents to us part of Jesus' discourse on the end of times. In this discourse is a phrase whose terse clarity is striking: "Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away" (Mk 13: 31). Let us pause a moment to reflect on this prophecy of Christ. 

The expression "Heaven and earth" recurs frequently in the Bible in reference to the whole universe, the entire cosmos. Jesus declares that all this is destined to "pass away"; not only the earth but also Heaven, which here is meant in a purely cosmic sense and not as synonymous with God. Sacred Scripture knows no ambiguity: all Creation is marked by finitude, including the elements divinized by ancient mythologies; there is no confusion between Creation and the Creator but rather a decided difference. With this clear distinction Jesus says that his words "will not pass away", that is to say they are part of God and therefore eternal. Even if they were spoken in the concreteness of his earthly existence, they are prophetic words par excellence, as Jesus affirms elsewhere, addressing the heavenly Father: "I have given them the words which you gave me, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me" (Jn 17: 8). In a well-known parable Christ compares himself to the sower and explains that the seed is the word (cf. Mk 4: 14); those who hear it, accept it and bear fruit (cf. Mk 4: 20) take part in the Kingdom of God, that is, they live under his lordship. They remain in the world, but are no longer of the world. They bear within them a seed of eternity a principle of transformation that is already manifest now in a good life, enlivened by charity, and that in the end will produce the resurrection of the flesh. This is the power of Christ's word. 

Dear friends, the Virgin Mary is the living sign of this truth. Her heart was "good soil" that received with complete willingness the Word of God, so that her whole life, transformed according to the image of the Son, was introduced into eternity, body and soul, in anticipation of the eternal vocation of every human being. Let us now make our own in prayer her response to the Angel: "Let it be to me according to your word" (Lk 1: 38), so that in following Christ on the way of the Cross we too may be able to attain the glory of the Resurrection.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 15 November 2009]

1. After meditating on the eschatological goal of our existence, that is, eternal life, we now reflect on the journey that leads to it. To do this, we develop the perspective presented in the Apostolic Letter Tertio millennio adveniente: “The whole of the Christian life is like a great pilgrimage to the house of the Father, whose unconditional love for every human creature, and in particular for the ‘prodigal son’ (cf. Lk 15:11-32), we discover anew each day. This pilgrimage takes place in the heart of each person, extends to the believing community and then reaches to the whole of humanity” (n. 49).

In fact, what Christians will one day live to the full is already in some way anticipated today. Indeed, the Passover of the Lord inaugurates the life of the world to come.

2. The Old Testament prepares for the announcement of this truth through the complex theme of the Exodus. The journey of the chosen people to the promised land (cf. Ex 6:6) is like a magnificent icon of the Christian’s journey towards the Father's house. Obviously there is a fundamental difference: while in the ancient Exodus liberation was oriented to the possession of land, a temporary gift like all human realities, the new “Exodus” consists in the journey towards the Father’s house, with the definitive prospect of eternity that transcends human and cosmic history. The promised land of the Old Testament was lost de facto with the fall of the two kingdoms and the Babylonian Exile, after which the idea of returning developed like a new Exodus. However, this journey did not end in another geographical or political settlement, but opened itself to an “eschatological” vision that was henceforth a prelude to full revelation in Christ.  The universalistic images, which in the Book of Isaiah describe the journey of peoples and history towards a new Jerusalem, the centre of the world (cf. Is 56-66), in fact point in this direction.

3. The New Testament announces the fulfilment of this great expectation, holding up Christ as the Saviour of the world: “When the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons” (Gal 4:4-5). In the light of this announcement, this life is already under the sign of salvation. It is fulfilled in the coming of Jesus of Nazareth, which culminates in the Passover but will have its full realization in the “parousia”, the final coming of Christ.

According to the Apostle Paul, this journey of salvation which links the past to the present, directing it to the future, is the fruit of God's plan, totally focused on the mystery of Christ. This is the “mystery of his will, according to his purpose which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth” (Eph 1:9-10; cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1042f.).

In this divine plan, the present is the time of the “already and not yet”. It is the time of salvation already accomplished and the journey towards its full actualization: “Until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Eph4:13).

4. Growth towards this perfection in Christ, and  therefore growth towards the experience of the Trinitarian mystery, implies that the Passover will be fulfilled and fully celebrated only in the eschatological kingdom of God (cf. Lk 22:16). But the events of the Incarnation, the Crucifixion and the Resurrection already constitute the definitive revelation of God. The offer of redemption which this event implies is inscribed in the history of our human freedom, called to respond to the call of salvation.

Christian life is a participation in the paschal mystery, like the Way of the Cross and the Resurrection. It is a Way of the Cross, because our life is continually subject to the purification that leads to overcoming the old world marked by sin. It is a way of resurrection, because, in raising Christ, the Father conquered sin, so that for the believer the “justice of the Cross” becomes the “justice of God”, that is, the triumph of his truth and his love over the wickedness of the world.

5. In short, Christian life is growing towards the mystery of the eternal Passover. It therefore requires that we keep our gaze on the goal, the ultimate realities, but at the same time, that we strive for the “penultimate” realities: between these and the eschatological goal there is no opposition, but on the contrary  a mutually fruitful relationship. Although the primacy of the Eternal is always asserted, this does not prevent us from living historical realities righteously in the light of God (cf. CCC, n. 1048f.).

It is a matter of purifying every human activity and every earthly task, so that the Mystery of the Lord’s Passover will increasingly shine through them. As the Council in fact reminded us, human activity which is always marked by the sign of sin is purified and raised to perfection by the paschal mystery, so that “when we have spread on earth the fruits of our nature and our enterprise — human dignity, brotherly communion, and freedom — according to the command of the Lord and in his Spirit, we will find them once again, cleansed this time from the stain of sin, illuminated and transfigured, when Christ presents to his Father an eternal and universal kingdom” (Gaudium et spes, n. 39).

This eternal light illumines the life and the entire history of humanity on earth.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 11 August 1999]

The Gospel of this penultimate Sunday of the liturgical year offers us part of Jesus’ discourse regarding the last events of human history, oriented toward the complete fulfillment of the reign of God (cf. Mk 13:24-32). It is the talk that Jesus gave in Jerusalem before his last Passover. It has certain apocalyptic elements, such as wars, famine, cosmic catastrophes: “The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken” (vv. 24-25). However, these segments are not the essential part of the message. The core around which Jesus’ words turn is he himself, the mystery of his person, and of his death and resurrection, and his return at the end of time. 

Our final goal is the encounter with the Risen Lord. I would like to ask how many of you think about this. “There will be a day in which I meet the Lord face to face”. And this is our goal: the encounter. We do not await a time or a place, but we are going to encounter a person: Jesus. Thus the problem is not “when” these premonitory signs of the last days will occur, but rather our being prepared. Neither is it about knowing “how” these things will happen, but instead “how” we have to act today, in awaiting these things. We are called to live the present, building our future with serenity and trust in God. The parable of the fig tree that sprouts, as a sign of the approaching summer (cf. vv. 28-29), teaches that the perspective of the end doesn’t distract us from the present life, but rather brings us to look at our current days with an outlook of hope. This virtue of hope that is so hard to live. The smallest but strongest of the virtues. And our hope has a face: the face of the Risen Lord, who comes “with great power and glory” (v. 26), which will manifest his love, crucified and transfigured in the Resurrection. The triumph of Jesus at the end of time will be the triumph of the Cross, the demonstration that the sacrifice of oneself for love of neighbour, in imitation of Christ, is the only victorious power, the only stable point in the midst of the upheavals and tragedies of the world. 

The Lord Jesus is not only the destination of our earthly pilgrimage, but also a constant presence in our lives; he is also beside us, he always accompanies. That’s why, when we speak of the future and project ourselves toward it, it is always in order to lead us back to the present. He counters the false prophets, the fortune-tellers who predict that the end of the world is near; he sets himself against fatalism. He is at our side; he walks with us; he loves us. He wants to remove from his disciples of every age the curiosity about dates, predictions, horoscopes, and focus their attention on the today of history. I would like to ask you — don’t answer out loud, each one answer to himself — how many of you read your horoscope every day? Each one answer, and when you feel like reading your horoscope, look to Jesus who is with you. This is better and will be better for you. This presence of Jesus calls us to the anticipation and vigilance that exclude both impatience and lethargy, both the escaping to the future and the becoming prisoners of the current moment and of worldliness. 

In our days, too, there is no lack of natural and moral disasters, nor of adversities and difficulties of every kind. Everything passes, the Lord reminds us; he alone, his Word remains as the light that guides and encourages our steps. He always forgives us because he is at our side. We need only look at him and he changes our hearts. May the Virgin Mary help us to trust in Jesus, the firm foundation of our life, and to persevere with joy in his love.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 15 November 2015]