4th Lent Sunday   [15 March 2026]  Laetare

May God bless us and the Virgin protect us! This Sunday is a pause of light in the penitential journey. In the Gospel, Jesus gives sight to the blind man. Laetare means this: light is already overcoming the shadows. Even though we are still in Lent, Easter is near. The blind man's joy is achieved through questioning, rejection and loneliness. Laetare is not an escape from pain, but joy that arises from trial. Laetare is the smile of the Church in the middle of the desert: if I allow myself to be enlightened by Christ, my night is not definitive. The man born blind thus becomes an icon of the catechumen, but also of every believer who, in the heart of Lent, discovers that the light is already present and that Christian joy is born from the encounter with Him.

*First Reading from the First Book of Samuel (16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a)

 Reading this biblical text, we understand that the great prophet Samuel had to learn to change his perspective. Sent by God to designate the future king from among the sons of Jesse in Bethlehem, he apparently had only the embarrassment of choice. Jesse first brought his eldest son, named Eliab: tall, handsome, with the appearance worthy of succeeding the current king, Saul. But no: God let Samuel know that his choice did not fall on him: Do not look at his appearance or his tall stature... God does not look as man looks: man looks at the appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart (cf. 1 Sam 16:7).

So Jesse had his sons pass before the prophet one by one, in order of age. But God's choice did not fall on any of them. In the end, he had to call the last one, the one no one had thought of: David, whose only occupation was to tend the sheep. Well, it was he whom God had chosen to guard his people! The biblical account emphasises once again that God's choice falls on the smallest: "God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong," St Paul will say (1 Cor 1:27), because "my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor 12:9). Here is a good reason to change our way of looking at people! From this text we draw at least three lessons about kingship in Israel:

First: the king is God's chosen one, but the election is for a mission. Just as Israel is chosen for the service of humanity, so the king is chosen for the service of the people. This also entails the possibility of being deposed, as happened to Saul: if the chosen one no longer fulfils his mission, he is replaced. Second: the king receives anointing with oil; he is literally the 'messiah', that is, 'the anointed one'. God says to Samuel: 'Fill your horn with oil and set out! I am sending you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have chosen a king among his sons' (1 Sam 16:1). Third: anointing confers the Spirit of God. ' Samuel took the horn full of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers, and the Spirit of the Lord came upon David from that day forward' (1 Sam 16:13). The king thus becomes God's representative on earth, called to rule according to God's will and not according to that of the world. There is also another great lesson: men judge by appearances, God looks at the heart.  Many biblical stories insist on this mystery: God often chooses the least. David was the youngest of Jesse's sons; no one thought he had a great future. Moses declared himself slow of speech (Ex 4:10). Jeremiah considered himself too young (Jer 1:6). Samuel himself was inexperienced when he was called. Timothy was in poor health. And the people of Israel were small among the nations. These choices cannot be explained by human criteria. As Isaiah says: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways" (Is 55:8-9). The text summarises it thus: "What man sees does not count: for man sees the appearance, but the Lord sees the heart" (1 Sam 16:7). This truth protects us from two dangers: presumption and discouragement. It is not a question of merit, but of availability. No one possesses the necessary strength within themselves: God will give it at the right moment.

*Responsorial Psalm (22/23) 

We have just heard this psalm in its entirety: it is one of the shortest in the psalter, but it is so dense that the early Christians chose it as the privileged psalm for Easter night. On that night, the newly baptised, rising from the baptismal font, sang Psalm 22/23 as they made their way to the place of their Confirmation and First Eucharist. For this reason, it was called the 'psalm of Christian initiation'. If Christians were able to read the mystery of baptismal life in it, it is because this psalm already expressed in a privileged way the mystery of life in the Covenant, of life in intimacy with God for Israel. It is the mystery of God's choice, who elected this particular people for no apparent reason other than his sovereign freedom. Every generation marvels at this election and this Covenant offered: 'Ask the former generations that preceded you, from the day God created man on earth... has anything so great ever happened?' (Deut 4:32-35). This people, freely chosen by God, was given the privilege of being the first to enter into his intimacy, not to enjoy it selfishly, but to open the door to others. To express the happiness of the believer, Psalm 22/23 refers to two experiences: that of a Levite (a priest) and that of a pilgrim. We are familiar with the institution of the Levites: according to Genesis, Levi was one of the twelve sons of Jacob, from whom the twelve tribes of Israel took their name. But the tribe of Levi had a special place from the beginning: at the time of the division of the Promised Land, it did not receive any territory because it was consecrated to the service of worship. It is said that God himself is their inheritance; an image also taken up in another psalm: "Lord, my portion of inheritance and my cup... for me, the lot has fallen on delightful places" (Ps 15/16:5). The Levites lived scattered among the cities of the other tribes and lived on tithes; in Jerusalem, they were dedicated to the service of the Temple. The Levite in our psalm sings with all his heart: "Goodness and faithfulness shall follow me all the days of my life; I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for long days." His experience is an image of Israel's election: just as the Levite is happy to be consecrated to the service of God, so Israel is aware of its special vocation among humanity. Furthermore, Israel presents itself as a pilgrim going up to the Temple to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving. On the way, it is like a sheep: its shepherd is God. In the culture of the ancient Near East, kings were called "shepherds of the people," and Israel also uses this language. The ideal king is a good shepherd, attentive and strong to protect the flock. But in Israel it was strongly affirmed that the only true king is God; the kings of the earth are only his representatives. Thus, the true shepherd of Israel is God himself: 'The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul'. The prophet Ezekiel developed this image at length. Similarly, the Old Testament often presents Israel as God's flock: "He is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock he leads" (Ps 94/95:7). This recalls the experience of the Exodus: it was there that Israel experienced God's care, who guided them and enabled them to survive amid a thousand obstacles. For this reason, when Jesus said, "I am the Good Shepherd" (Jn 10), his words had a shocking effect: they meant "I am the King-Messiah, the true king of Israel." Returning to the psalm: pilgrimage can be dangerous. The pilgrim may encounter enemies ("You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies"), he may pass through "the dark valley" of death; but he does not fear, because God is with him: "I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff give me security". Once he reaches the Temple, he offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving and participates in the ritual banquet that follows: a joyful feast, with an overflowing cup and the anointing of oil on his head. We can understand why the early Christians saw in this psalm the expression of their experience: Christ is the true Shepherd (Jn 10); in baptism he leads us out of the valley of death to the waters of life; the table and the cup evoke the Eucharist; the perfumed oil recalls Confirmation. Once again, Christians discover with amazement that Jesus does not abolish the faith experience of his people, but brings it to fulfilment, giving it fullness.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians (5:8-14) 

Often in Scripture, it is the end of the text that provides the key. Let us start with the last sentence: 'For this reason it is said: "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light."' The phrase "This is why it is said..." clearly shows that the author did not invent this song, but quoted it. It must have been a well-known baptismal hymn in the early Christian communities. Awake... rise... and Christ will give you light was therefore a song of our first brothers and sisters in faith: and this cannot leave us indifferent. Thus, we better understand the beginning of the text: it simply serves to explain the words of that hymn. It is as if, after a baptismal celebration, someone had asked the theologian on duty — Paul, or one of his disciples (since it is not entirely certain that the Letter to the Ephesians was written by him personally) —: "What do the words we sang during baptism mean?" And the answer is this: thanks to baptism, a new life has begun, a radically new life. So much so that the newly baptised were called neophytes, meaning 'new plants'. The author explains the song in this way: the new plant that you have become is profoundly different. When a graft is made, the fruit of the grafted tree is different from the original one; and that is precisely why the graft is made. The colour makes it easy to distinguish what belongs to the new plant and what is a remnant of the past. It is the same with baptism: the fruits of the new man are works of light; before the grafting, you were darkness, and your fruits were works of darkness. But old habits may resurface: this is why it is important to recognise them. For the author, the distinction is simple: the fruits of the new man are goodness, justice and charity. Anything that is not goodness, justice and charity is a sprout from the old tree. Who can make you bear fruits of light? Jesus Christ. He is all goodness, all justice, all charity. Just as a plant needs the sun to bloom, so we must expose ourselves to his light. The song expresses both the work of Christ and the freedom of man: 'Awake, arise' — it is freedom that is called into question. 'Christ will enlighten you' — only he can do this. For St Paul, as for the prophets of the Old Testament, light is an attribute of God. To say 'Christ will enlighten you' means two things: first of all, Christ is God. The only way to live in harmony with God is to remain united to Christ, that is, to live concretely in justice, goodness and charity. The text of Isaiah (Is 58) comes to mind: share your bread with the hungry, welcome the poor, clothe the naked... Then your light will rise like the dawn. This is the glory of the Lord, his light that we are called to reflect. As Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthians (2 Cor 3:18): we reflect the glory of the Lord and are transformed into his image. To reflect means that Christ is the light; we are its reflection. This is the vocation of the baptised: to reflect the light of Christ. For this reason, at baptism, a candle lit from the Paschal candle is given. Secondly, a light does not shine for itself: it illuminates what surrounds it. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul writes: 'You shine like stars in the world' (Phil 2:14-16). This is his way of translating the words of Jesus Christ: 'You are the light of the world'. The Letter to the Ephesians, written directly by Paul or by one of his disciples (according to the then common practice of "pseudepigraphy"), remains for the Church a fundamental testimony of the baptismal vocation, called to pass from darkness to light.

*From the Gospel according to John (9:1-41)

The worst blindness is not what one thinks. Here we hear an illustration of what St John writes at the beginning of his Gospel, in the so-called Prologue:

"The Word was the true light, the light that enlightens every man... He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not recognise him" (Jn 1:9-10). This is what we might call the drama of the Gospels. But John continues: 'Yet to all who did receive him, he gave them the right to become children of God'. This is exactly what happens here: the drama of those who oppose Jesus and stubbornly refuse to recognise him as the One sent by God; but also, fortunately, the salvation of those who have the grace to open their eyes, like the man born blind.

John insists on making us understand that there are two kinds of blindness: physical blindness, which this man had from birth, and, much more serious, blindness of the heart.

Jesus meets the blind man for the first time and heals him of his natural blindness. He then meets him a second time and opens his heart to another light, the true light. It is no coincidence that John takes care to explain the meaning of the name 'Siloam', which means 'Sent'. In other cases, he does not translate the terms: here he does so because it is important. Jesus is truly the One sent by the Father to enlighten the world. Yet we return to the same question: why was the one who was sent to bring God's light rejected by those who awaited him most fervently? The episode of the man born blind takes place immediately after the Feast of Tabernacles, a great solemnity in Jerusalem, during which the coming of the Messiah was ardently invoked. And the danger of certainties can be great. At the time of Jesus Christ, the expectation of the Messiah was very intense. There was only one question: is he truly the Father's Envoy or is he an impostor? Is he the Messiah, yes or no? His actions were paradoxical: he performed the works expected of the Messiah — he restored sight to the blind and speech to the mute — but he did not seem to respect the Sabbath. And it was precisely on the Sabbath that he healed the blind man. Now, if he were truly sent by God, many thought, he should observe the Sabbath. It was 'obvious'. But it is precisely this 'obviousness' that is the problem. Many had too rigid ideas about what the Messiah should be like and were not ready for God's surprise. The blind man, on the other hand, is not a prisoner of preconceptions. To the Pharisees who ask him for explanations, he simply replies: "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes... I washed and gained my sight." The Pharisees are divided: He is not from God, because he does not observe the Sabbath. How can a sinner perform such signs? The blind man reasons with simplicity and freedom: If this man were not from God, he could do nothing (cf. Jn 9:31-33). It is always the same story: those who close themselves off in their own certainties end up seeing nothing; those who take a step in faith are ready to receive grace. And then they can receive true light from Jesus. This episode takes place in a context of controversy between Jesus and the Pharisees. Twice Jesus had rebuked them for  "judging by appearances" (Jn 7:24; 8:15). It is natural to recall the episode of David's choice: "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart" (1 Sam 16:7). The worst blindness, therefore, is not that of the eyes, but that of a heart that does not want to be enlightened. The man born blind does not only receive sight: he receives a new way of seeing. At first he sees Jesus as "a man"; then as a "prophet"; finally he recognises him as "Lord" and prostrates himself before him. The real miracle is not only the opening of the eyes, but the opening of the heart. Here we also find the wisdom of The Little Prince (novel by A.M. de Saint-Exupéry): "What is essential is invisible to the eye." The Pharisees see with their eyes, but remain blind inside; the beggar, on the other hand, passing through rejection and trial, comes to see the Invisible. The conclusion is this: faith is a journey from external light to inner light. One can have healthy eyes and remain in darkness; or one can have been blind and become a witness to the light. The man born blind teaches us that true sight is recognising Christ as the Light of the world and allowing our hearts to be illuminated.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

Third Lent Sunday (year A) [8 March 2026]

May God bless us and the Virgin Mary protect us! Have a good Lenten journey as we pause today with Jesus at the well, a place of life-changing encounters.

*First Reading from the Book of Exodus (17:3-7)

Looking at a map of the Sinai desert, Massa and Meriba are nowhere to be found: they are not specific geographical locations, but symbolic names. Massa means 'challenge', Meriba means 'accusation'. These names recall an episode of challenge, of protest, almost of mutiny against God. The episode takes place in Rephidim, in the middle of the desert, between Egypt and the Promised Land. The people of Israel, led by Moses, advanced from stage to stage, from one water source to another. But at Rephidim, the water ran out. In the desert, under the scorching sun, thirst quickly becomes a matter of life and death: fear grows, panic takes over. The only right response would have been trust: 'God wanted us to be free, he proved it, so he will not abandon us'. Instead, the people give in to fear and react as we often react ourselves: they look for someone to blame. And the culprit seems to be Moses, the 'government' of the time. What is the point, they say, of leaving Egypt only to die of thirst in the desert? Better to be slaves but alive than free but dead. And, as always happens, the past is idealised: they remember the full pots and abundant water of Egypt, forgetting the slavery. In reality, behind the accusation against Moses, there is a deeper accusation: against God himself. What kind of God is this, they ask themselves, who frees a people only to let them die in the desert? The protest: Why did you bring us out of Egypt? To let us, our children and our livestock die of thirst? It becomes increasingly harsh, until it turns into a real trial against God: as if God had freed the people only to get rid of them. Moses then cries out to the Lord: What shall I do with this people? A little more and they will stone me!

And God replies: he orders him to take the staff with which he had struck the Nile, to go to Mount Horeb and to strike the rock. Water gushes forth, the people drink, and their lives are saved (cf. Exodus 17). That water is not only physical relief: it is a sign that God is truly present among his people, that he has not abandoned them and that he continues to guide them on the path to freedom. For this reason, that place will no longer be called simply Rephidim, but Massah and Meribah, 'Testing and Accusation', because there Israel tested God, asking themselves: Is the Lord among us or not? In modern language: 'Is God for us or against us?' This temptation is also ours. Every trial, every suffering, reopens the same original question: can we really trust God? It is the same temptation recounted in the Garden of Eden (Genesis): the suspicion that God does not really want our good poisons human life. This is why Jesus Christ, teaching the Our Father, educates his disciples in filial trust. Do not abandon us to temptation could be translated as: "Do not let our Refidim become Massa, do not let our places of trial become places of doubt." Continuing to call God "Father," even in difficult times, means proclaiming that God is always with us, even when water seems to be lacking.

*Responsorial Psalm (94/95), 

In the Bible, the original text of the psalm reads as follows: "Today, if you hear his voice,

do not harden your hearts as at Massah and Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert, where your fathers tested me even though they had seen my works." This psalm is deeply marked by the experience of Massah and Meribah. This is why the liturgy proposes it on the third Sunday of Lent, in harmony with the story of the Exodus: it is a direct reference to the great question of trust. In a few lines, the psalm summarises the whole adventure of faith, both personal and communal. The question is always the same: can we trust God?

For Israel in the desert, this question arose at every difficulty: ' Is the Lord really among us or not?' In other words: can we rely on Him? Will He really support us? Faith, in the Bible, is first and foremost trust. It is not an abstract idea, but the act of 'relying' on God. It is no coincidence that the word 'Amen' means 'solid', 'stable': it means 'I trust, I have faith' . This is why the Bible insists so much on the verb 'to listen': when you trust, you listen. It is the heart of Israel's prayer, the Shema Israel: Hear, O Israel: the Lord is our God... You shall love Him, that is, you shall trust Him. 'To listen' means to have an open ear. The psalm says: 'You have opened my ear' (Ps 40), and the prophet Isaiah writes: The Lord God has opened my ear. Even 'obeying' in the Bible means this: listening with trust. This trust is based on experience. Israel has seen the 'work of God': liberation from Egypt. If God has broken the chains of slavery, He cannot want His people to die in the desert. This is why Israel calls him 'the Rock': it is not poetry, it is a profession of faith. At Massah and Meribah, the people doubted, but God brought water out of the rock: since then, God has been the Rock of Israel. Even the story of the Garden of Eden (Genesis) can be understood in the light of this experience: every limitation, every command, every trial can become a question of trust. Faith is believing that, even when we do not understand, God wants us to be free, alive and happy, and that from our situations of failure he can bring forth new life. Sometimes this trust resembles a 'leap of faith' when we cannot find answers. Then we can say with Simon Peter in Capernaum: 'Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life'. When Paul of Tarsus writes: ' Be reconciled to God', it is like saying: stop suspecting God, as at Massah and Meribah. And when the Gospel of Mark says, 'Repent and believe in the Gospel', it means: believe that the Good News is truly good, that God loves you. Finally, the psalm says, 'Today'. It is a liberating word: every day can be a new beginning. Every day we can relearn to listen and to trust. This is why Psalm 94/95 opens the Liturgy of the Hours every morning and Israel recites the Shema twice a day. And the psalm speaks in the plural: faith is always a journey of a people. 'We are the people He guides'. This is not poetry: it is experience. The Bible knows a people who, together, come to meet their God: "Come, let us acclaim the Lord, let us acclaim the rock of our salvation." It is faith that comes from trust, renewed today, day after day.

*Second Reading from the Letter of St Paul to the Romans (5:1-2, 5-8)

Chapter 5 of the Letter to the Romans marks a decisive turning point. Up to this point, Paul of Tarsus had spoken of humanity's past, of pagans and believers; now he looks to the future, a future transfigured for those who believe, thanks to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. To understand Paul's thinking clearly, we can summarise it in three fundamental statements. 1. Christ died for us while we were sinners. Paul affirms that Christ died 'for us'. This expression does not mean 'in our place', as if Jesus had simply replaced those who were condemned, but 'on our behalf'. When humanity was incapable of saving itself, marked by violence, injustice, greed for power and money, Christ took this reality upon himself and fought it to the point of giving his life.

Humanity, created for love, peace and sharing, had lost its way. Jesus comes to say, with his life and death: "I will show you to the very end what it means to love and forgive. Follow me, even if it costs me my life."

2. The Holy Spirit has been given to us: God's love dwells in us. The second great affirmation is this: the Holy Spirit has been given to us, and with him, God's own love has been poured into our hearts. It is no coincidence that Paul speaks of the Spirit for the first time when he speaks of the cross. For him, passion, cross and gift of the Spirit are inseparable. Here Paul is in complete harmony with the evangelist John. In his Gospel, during the Feast of Tabernacles, Jesus promises "living water," explaining that he was speaking of the Spirit (cf. Gospel of John (7:37-39). And at the moment of the cross, John writes: Bowing his head, Jesus gave up his spirit (Jn 19:30). The promise is fulfilled: from the cross comes the gift of the Spirit. 3. Our 'boast' is the hope of God's glory. Paul also speaks of 'pride', but he makes it clear: we cannot boast about ourselves, because everything is a gift from God; but we can boast about God's gifts, about the wonderful destiny to which we are called. The Spirit already dwells in us, and we know that one day this same Spirit will transform our bodies and hearts into the image of the risen Christ.

The account of the Transfiguration has given us a foretaste of this glory.

From Massah and Meribah to glory. What an immense journey compared to Massah and Meribah, where the people doubted God! Now, thanks to our faith in Christ, we can say with Paul: "Through him we also have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God" (5:2). In conclusion, the Spirit that Jesus has given us is the very love of God. This certainty should overcome all fear. If God's love has been poured into our hearts, then the forces of division will not have the last word.

For believers, and for all humanity, hope is well-founded, because "the love of God has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us" (5:5).

*From the Gospel according to John (4:5-42) 

Jesus meets us today at the well. And this detail is not secondary. In the Bible, the well is never just a place where water is drawn: it is a place of decisive encounters, where life changes direction. At a well, Abraham's servant  meets Rebecca, who will become Isaac's wife; at a well, Jacob  falls in love with Rachel. At the well, relationships, alliances and the future are born. When John places Jesus at a well, he is telling us that something decisive is about to happen. Jesus arrives at Jacob's well in Samaria. It is midday. Jesus is tired and sits down. The Gospel immediately shows us a God who stops, who accepts fatigue, who enters our life as it is. Salvation begins with a pause, not with a spectacular gesture. At that hour, a woman arrives. She is alone. Jesus says to her, 'Give me a drink'. It is a surprising request. Jesus, a Jew, speaks to a Samaritan woman; a man speaks to a woman; a righteous man speaks to a person whose life has been wounded. God does not enter our lives by imposing himself, but by asking. He becomes a beggar for our hearts. From that simple request, a dialogue arises that goes ever deeper. Jesus leads the woman from the external well to her inner thirst: "If you knew the gift of God..." The water that Jesus promises is not water to be drawn every day, but a spring that gushes within, a life that does not run dry. It does not eliminate daily life, but transfigures it from within. Then Jesus touches on the truth of the woman's life. He does not judge her, he does not humiliate her. In the Gospel, truth does not serve to crush, but to liberate. Only those who accept to be known can receive the gift. The woman then asks a religious question: where should God be worshipped? On the mountain or in the temple? Jesus responds by shifting the focus: no longer where, but how. 'In Spirit and truth'. God is no longer encountered in one place as opposed to another, but in a living relationship. The true temple is the heart that allows itself to be inhabited. When the woman speaks of the Messiah, Jesus makes one of the most powerful revelations in the entire Gospel: 'I am he, the one who is speaking to you'. The Messiah does not manifest himself in the temple, but in a personal dialogue, at a well, to a woman considered unclean. As in the ancient stories of wells, here too the encounter opens up a promise: but now the Bridegroom is Jesus Christ and the covenant is new. The woman leaves her jug behind. It is a simple but decisive gesture. The jug represents old certainties, repeated attempts to quench a thirst that never goes away. Those who have encountered Christ no longer live to draw water, but to bear witness. The woman runs into town and says, 'Come and see'. She does not give a lesson, she recounts an encounter. And many believe, to the point of saying, 'Now we no longer believe because of what you said, but because we ourselves have heard'. Today's Gospel tells us this: Christ does not take us away from the well of life, but transforms the well into a place of salvation. Our thirst becomes an encounter, the encounter becomes a gift, the gift becomes a source for others. This is Lent: allowing ourselves to be encountered by Christ and becoming, in turn, living water for those who are thirsty.

+Giovanni D'Ercole

A few days ago, I read in the newspaper about another case of a 22-year-old girl being stabbed. She was stabbed because she was listening to music at too high a volume, annoying her attacker.

Recently, several similar incidents have been reported in the media, all involving young people and all for trivial reasons. Some were for looking too long at the girl of their dreams, others for a slightly risqué compliment, etc.

Unfortunately, many young people these days attack their peers with knives they carry with them. 

It should be noted that, like all objects, knives do not only have a negative value. They are used in the kitchen, for work; in the hands of a skilled chef, they become something precious. 

In primitive societies, they were used to defend against animals and enemies.

Today, in the world of young people and beyond, if we think of the numerous cases of femicide where women are killed with unprecedented ferocity, it seems to be becoming a kind of status symbol.

This tool is perceived as a sign of toughness and strength, especially among young people who feel marginalised. 

The episodes of violence that occur between two individuals have no valid reasons, but the spark that triggers them is a trivial, sometimes frivolous motive.

Often, the use of knives – weapons that are easy to obtain – is inherent in individuals associated with youth gangs, in order to  become part of them and become affiliated. Here, it is as if this object could be a 'magic wand' against feelings of inner malaise and emotional and social disappointments. And this weapon would make us feel invincible, or perhaps just stronger. 

Except for professionals, getting used to carrying a weapon with us can have repercussions on our way of being. We get used to it, and we may increasingly tend towards episodes of aggression towards others. 

Leaving the house and carrying a knife with us - sooner or later, at the slightest provocation, we are tempted to use it, thus fuelling fear and increasing the likelihood of becoming a victim ourselves. In the long run, our psyche 'brings out' aspects of ourselves that may have been 'dormant' in hidden corners of our unconsciousness.

The individual ends up engaging in antisocial behaviour. And in the many goals they try to achieve, this behaviour can sometimes be harmful to themselves.

These are individuals who have a normal intellectual level, sometimes even above average.

In my experience of similar cases, referred by the Juvenile Court to the Child Neuropsychiatry Service, episodes of knife violence were associated with a low intellectual level.

These individuals often encounter failure in every initiative they take, thus increasing their sense of frustration.

They generally tend to lie and often exploit others, giving little importance to moral values.

They habitually almost never tell the truth, even when they make a promise (which they usually do not keep), showing no distress and coldly maintaining their positions.

They may be influenced by films and ancestral cultures, which can reinforce their inclination to use such weapons, without being aware of the possible consequences and the potential escalation of violence. 

We 'young people of the past' were taught and passed on the ability to react constructively to the difficulties and humiliations that life inevitably brings. 

Today, however, it seems that everything is owed to us, that deprivation of anything in this excess of well-being is unbearable. 

And so, especially in emotionally unstable individuals, something triggers them to do harm; we are moving towards an insane, sick aggression. Not towards that 'healthy determination' that helps us overcome life's obstacles.

I have often heard from people who came before me, and perhaps also from some reading that I now cannot remember, that the most cruel beast is man. Two souls lurk in his heart: one made of sociability and a drive towards others, the other of jealousy and rivalry, of cruelty towards others.

People with these issues tend to be dishonest, to lie and deceive others, to try to exploit them, forgetting the moral principles they have learned.

These people always consider themselves 'the best'. If this is not perceived, anger rises - consciously or unconsciously.

When they cause harm, they feel no remorse and no guilt.

The line between what is legal and what is not becomes blurred. We tend to act impulsively, without considering the effect of our actions on others.

As a result, we sink lower and lower. We believe that others are only there to help us get what we want.

Often, violent or even sadistic behaviour is associated with a certain pleasure.

And here we also tend to participate in clashes with 'power'.

On a collective level, just look at the recent events in Turin, where violence is directed at law enforcement officers, those who represent the rules and seek to restore legality.

Without adhering to any ideology, I am personally convinced, leaving aside party politics, that limits must be restored from childhood. In this way, a child can grow up with a clear distinction between what is good and what is evil.

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, Psychologist-Psychotherapist.

Obsession and Compulsion

A gentleman confides in me that for some time now he has felt the need to check whether he has locked the front door of his house. A lady, on the other hand, needs to be sure that she has turned off the gas in the kitchen.

After checking, both the gas and the front door were fine and in order.

Another middle-aged man feels the need to see if his car is okay, then he has to go and check it, walk around it, touch it in different places, and only after completing these behavioural sequences can he return home peacefully. Sometimes he feels the need to do this several times a day.

In the Treccani dictionary, the term 'obsession' is defined as: 'a mental representation that the will cannot eliminate, accompanied by anxiety'. 

The term 'compulsion' is defined as: 'compulsion, being driven by necessity to do something'.

Many people have thoughts that they have no interest in; these are often ideas that make no sense, but which require considerable mental effort.

Without wanting to, these ideas invade our minds and make our brains 'rack' as if they were fundamental issues.

These may be thoughts or images that cause concern, and are usually followed by compulsions that the person must perform to calm their anxiety. 

Between the 'fixed' idea and the need to perform some act or gesture to ensure that nothing bad happens, doubt often arises, undermining our most certain convictions.

This leads to increasing indecision, which limits our freedom of action: even simple choices take a long time to make.  

Sometimes it leads us to be unable to make a decision. The doubt may concern a thought, a memory, an action, etc., and may spill over from one content to another.

A person with these problems, when leaving the house, sometimes feels compelled to return to  make sure they have not left the light on, and to be sure, they sometimes have to do this several times.

In literature, there are examples of people who, after sending a letter, felt the need to reopen it to check what they had written.

In psychological contexts such as this, we also talk about 'rumination', which is always associated with doubt.

In biology, it refers to the digestive process of certain animals, such as cattle. Food that has been swallowed is brought back into the mouth to be chewed again, more thoroughly, and then swallowed again to complete digestion.

In psychology, 'rumination' describes repetitive and persistent thinking focused on past events, as opposed to 'brooding', which is more concerned with future events.

Ceremonials are also described. In these, the individual must perform a sequence of acts such as washing their hands frequently or cleaning everyday objects many times.

This is where an aspect of the psychological picture described comes into play: 'rupophobia' and contamination. Rupophobia is a morbid fear of dirt and of being infected. It can affect any aspect of our lives: objects, people or public places. It is an aspect that can also harm intimacy.

The Covid period has increased the fear of contagion, but this was a real event. Many years ago, around 1986, there was the Chernobyl phenomenon, and there we really had to be careful about what we ate because food, especially vegetables, could have been contaminated.

Anyone who has these ideas may count the cars in the car park while walking, or touch lampposts, or try to avoid cracks in the pavement, etc.

In severe cases, these people may feel that they are harming someone, so these thoughts make them 'back away'. They need to give themselves a 'shake' to try to dispel these terrifying ideas.

People with these characteristics are generally strict, concerned with details, and meticulous about rules and formalities. 

However, by focusing on details, they often overlook the essentials.      

How many people in their work environment feel the need to line up their objects in excessive order?      

Order and control are closely interlinked, because external order can be a way of achieving internal order, which can reduce stress. 

However, we are talking about excessive order. A minimum of order is necessary to avoid confusion and to be able to find our things.

Stuttering is also a speech disorder linked to this psychological condition.

The person who stutters struggles at the beginning, with the first letter or syllable, and repeats it until the word is finished. 

As we know, their speech is fluent when they are alone or when they recite or sing.

Otherwise, mortified by their defect, they will tend to isolate themselves and speak as little as possible. Or they will stubbornly insist on speaking with intense physical effort.

Stuttering 'is a conflict between the erotic urethral tendency to expel and the erotic-anal tendency to retain, shifted to the mouth' (Manual of Psychiatry, Arieti, vol. I, p. 353).

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, Psychologist-Psychotherapist.

A look into the «darkness».

As I have already mentioned, many poets and writers have described the flow of the human soul.

Eugenio Montale expresses this in one of his poems from 1925, on the pain of living, providing us with the image of a stream that cannot flow, a leaf crumpled by excessive heat, a horse exhausted on the ground.

These are images that linger in our minds, leaving us with food for thought and questions to ponder.

There have been moments of 'darkness' in our lives, and perhaps there will be more.

Feelings of discouragement and not knowing which path to take - each of us has experienced this first-hand.

The intensity and duration of the 'darkness' vary depending on the circumstances and our personal ability to react.

We react differently to defeat or disappointment; what upsets one person may leave another completely indifferent.

An encounter with 'darkness' can be common when faced with serious difficulties such as bereavement, loss of employment, the onset of illness, the end of a relationship, and so on.

This state of mind is temporary and ends spontaneously, without bringing about changes in a person's life.

In other cases, it is important not to underestimate this state of mind, as it could be a sign of psychosomatic or psychological distress.

In these cases, we often experience inexplicable feelings of worry and apathy, and we feel more fatigued.

Let us remember that the reaction to 'darkness' often follows a traumatic experience, which in ordinary circumstances would not have caused any temporary feelings of low mood.

A more severe and prolonged reaction, one that the individual cannot overcome on their own, is an unusual condition.

In older people, emotional shocks can trigger moments of 'darkness' more easily than in younger people.

Sometimes older people are marginalised, have fewer social relationships, and often suffer a loss of prestige, especially when they lose hope.

But even adolescents [with their precariousness] are not immune to these moments of unease.

It is not true that adolescence is a happy time of life; on the contrary, it is perhaps one of the most troubled.

In these moments of 'darkness', which clinicians call «depression», we notice that people going through this phase greatly reduce their activities, have less self-confidence, and take an interest in few things.

They are able to keep their jobs even if they have to work harder. Usually, their memory and relationship with reality are not altered - unless a serious condition («psychosis») has arisen.

Arieti describes the depression we have called 'darkness' here as a combination of sadness and pessimism.

The latter is the essential element of the combination; the unhealthy idea is to believe that what has happened to a person will always happen to them, or that their state of mind will never change.

Defeatism, the illusion of knowing what will happen to us in the future, consolidates sadness into 'darkness'.

Often the 'darkness' of the soul is discharged onto the body.

We may experience weight loss, feelings of oppression in the heart, decreased bodily secretions, insomnia, and frequent headaches.

In our behaviour towards others, 'darkness' makes us tend to exploit and influence others; it makes us  unwilling to be persuaded. We find it difficult to satisfy others, and hostility often overwhelms us.

Faber Andrew wrote a poem entitled “To those who are going through their darkness”...

The poet invites the reader to «believe in poetry. In the eyes of those who have already found that road».

Then again: «There is a sky here waiting for you, with a breathtaking panorama of dreams».

For a poet, poetry is the main road, but we who are not poets have something to believe in, and that is the pillar of our reality.

Let us always remember that when the night reaches its darkest point, the dawn of a new day begins.

Francesco Giovannozzi, psychologist and psychotherapist.

In today's society, there are many factors that cause anxiety and restlessness, and strategies to combat them are often difficult to find. 

This period is characterised by the 'shaking' of fundamental values, norms and aspirations that drove man towards fulfilment and healthy relationships with others.

The current wars around the world, the memories of them for older people, and the threat of nuclear war add to the list.

In such a hostile climate, human isolation is accentuated.

Each person has their own way of reacting: the most common is a sense of unease, anxiety, feeling in danger without knowing what the danger is; a sense of ruin, or something else.

We often fail to understand the cause of all this. People feel helpless, and if this unease is strong, it can be discharged onto the body.

Muscle stiffness may be noticed, or there may be tremors, a feeling of weakness or tiredness; even the voice may tremble.

At the cardiovascular level, palpitations, fainting, increased heart rate and increased blood pressure may occur. 

Nausea, vomiting and stomach ache may also occur in the intestines, which have no organic origin. 

There may also be other symptoms typical of each person's history, and there is no organ that cannot be affected by internal tension.

I remember that in my professional life I have met people with psychological problems that were 'discharged' in different parts of the body, sometimes in the most unimaginable places.

I have encountered alopecia (hair loss), locked limbs, visual disturbances, fainting, and more recently, teenagers who cut themselves...

If a person feels overwhelmed by a sudden wave of inner discomfort, they may react inappropriately or even dangerously (alcohol, drugs, speeding, gambling, etc.).

Understanding these disturbances, worries and anxieties is important in determining whether they are normal or not.

Unusual states of anxiety are distinguished from more or less persistent apprehension with acute crises.

These states are to be distinguished from the state of generalised worry that we find common in our daily lives.

Let us remember that in order to define our anxiety and agitation, we must convince ourselves that it is something normal when the individual feels threatened.

Agitation should be distinguished from fear, where the danger is real: the individual can assess the situation and choose whether to face it or flee.

When we talk about agitation in the normal sense, we mean that it is human nature to feel it when faced with danger, illness, etc.

It represents the deepest way of living our human existence.

It makes us face our limits and weaknesses, which are not manifestations of inner discomfort or illness, but expressions of human nature. 

The more aware we are of our limits, the better we are able to live with our anxieties.

For our fellow human beings who feel omnipotent, agitation and anxiety are unbearable, as they bring to consciousness the limits that are a wound to their 'feeling of being a superior creature'. 

We experience normal unease even when we leave an 'old road for a new one'.

From this point of view, it accompanies us in our changes, in our evolution, and in finding meaning in our lives.

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, psychologist and psychotherapist

Reflections on the religious sense.

This reflection also stems from a dialogue with a gentleman of about my age.

This well known and respected gentleman in his village met an old acquaintance of his and was rebuked by the latter because he did not attend religious services; according to her, he should have done so for his own good. The gentleman replied that he did not feel this need and that it did not seem to him that his behaviour might offend the generally understood religious sense. 

Discussions like this occur often among human beings, this is nothing new. I report it because it made me reflect on the religious sense in human life. The topic touches on several disciplines and is complex.     

Studies by Fiorenzo Facchini say that various behaviours of prehistoric man are read in a religious sense. Our ancestors gave burials to their dead and painted representations on the walls.      

These caves had something sacred about them. Religious manifestations of antiquity were songs and dances.

In all religions we find a need for reassurance about our lives and also the need to find magical answers to our problems.

Bettelheim argues that on an individual level and especially in childhood, religion can provide that basis of stability and security with which the child can evolve towards autonomy.

The society in which we live forces us to run, to be in step with the times; it wants to give us its values.

Today there is the fashion of the ephemeral, of competitiveness - and so it is psychologically reassuring to believe in a 'mother-environment' that loves us, or to be within a design that gives meaning to our lives.

Unlike Freud who did not have a positive view, or the philosopher Charles Marx who claimed that religion is the opium of the people, Jung in the eleventh volume "Psychology and Religion" says verbatim:

"Since' religion is indisputably one of the first and universal expressions of the human soul [...] it is not only a sociological or historical phenomenon, but an important personal matter" (vol.XI, p.15).

In my long professional practice I have often encountered people who have had to come to terms with this issue.

The therapist's task is not to condition the other, but to clarify the underlying dynamics.

I have met people who described themselves as non-believers but who on an unconscious level had to come to terms with their dreams. Or individuals who belonged to different religions that were so rigid that they inhibited their vital sense.

In all these cases, knowledge of the human soul grew, whether they claimed to be religious or not. We are not discussing each person's philosophical position.

There were differences between the person who called himself religious and one who was not.

I would like to point out that these differences do not constitute value judgements, but only behavioural characteristics.

The religious person believes that there is a reality that is sacred and beyond this world - and that his existence is enhanced according to his belief.

He who called himself a non-believer rejected transcendence, was one who is self-made and believes that he alone constructs his own destiny.

A constant concern was to deny any reference or wisecrack that was made to religious topics.

I have even met someone who was more concerned about what my beliefs were than his personal problems. I always replied that my sphere of action was the psyche in all its manifestations. Beyond any manifestation sacred or not, respect for the person is already a sacred attitude.

"To 'desacralise' oneself completely is not easy either, as it is difficult to deny history altogether - both for those who believe in creation and those who believe in evolution.

Who knows whether evolution includes a creation?

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi Psychologist-psychotherapist