(Mt 8:23-27)

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

"Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni" - with these and similar words the Church's liturgy repeatedly prays [...].

These invocations were probably formulated in the period of the decline of the Roman Empire. The disintegration of the supporting orders of law and of the basic moral attitudes, which gave them strength, caused the breaking of the banks that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence between men. A world was passing away. Frequent natural cataclysms further increased this experience of insecurity. No force could be seen to halt this decline. All the more insistent was the invocation of God's own power: that He would come and protect men from all these threats.

"Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni". Today, too, we have many reasons to associate ourselves with this prayer [...] The world with all its new hopes and possibilities is, at the same time, distressed by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving, a consensus without which legal and political structures do not function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem doomed to failure.

Excita - the prayer is reminiscent of the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples' storm-tossed boat that was close to sinking. When His powerful word had calmed the storm, He rebuked the disciples for their little faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and par.). He wanted to say: in yourselves faith has slept. He also wants to say the same thing to us. Even in us so often faith sleeps. Let us therefore pray to Him to awaken us from the sleep of a faith that has become weary and to restore to faith the power to move mountains - that is, to give right order to the things of the world.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia 20 December 2010].

Our life proceeds as on a small boat tossed about by earthquakes. We go hopeful, but sometimes adversity threatens to drown us, and with us it seems to drag our whole life down.

Episodes that nevertheless make us realise how much Christ's friendship is worth to us and what it conveys to us.

For we experience that only the Lord overcomes the fear of upheavals.

But he does so without rushing, and without any set patterns that would frame him forever (it would be like making him perish).

If we welcome Him in a simple and forthright manner, we realise that there is another realm, that every element is in His power.

On such a wave that has become vital, everything will serve to reactivate us - even the headwind and the pitfalls of evil.

The Invisible Friend guides and fulfils us infallibly. And he brings us to Riva. Landing that is the ultimate condition.

Dry land that the force of the waves cannot affect, even when we have the feeling of being swept away by the waves.

Using paraphrases from the book of Exodus, Mt tries to help his communities understand the Mystery of the Person of Jesus.

Not a few Jewish converts considered Christ to be a person in line with their mentality and tradition, in agreement with First Testament prophecies and figures.

Elsewhere, some pagans who had accepted the Lord advocated an understanding with the worldly mentality - a kind of agreement between Jesus and the Empire.

But who could calm the storms?

The situation of the tiny Christian families in Galilee and Syria was still dark. Christ seemed not quite present, and the sea was rough, the wind contrary.

Could the Exodus be re-created?

Faith in Him was shaken, not relaxed. The disciples did not possess the Master's same calm trust in the Father.

And yet, in the very condition of shaken pilgrims, in approaching His Person they experienced a strange and different stability: the perseverance against the tide.

A crossing towards freedom that came from clinging to Jesus alone, in the chaos of security. A discordant permanence.

Even today, it is the unaccustomed and critical path of growth that reveals Him capable of manifesting His quiet strength, restoring the disrupted elements to calm.

The direction of travel imposed by Jesus on His disciples seems to go against the grain, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

While the disciples fondle nationalist desires, the Master begins to make it clear that He is not the vulgarly expected Messiah, restorer of the defunct empire of David or the Caesars.

The Kingdom of God is open to all mankind, who in those turbulent times sought security, acceptance, points of reference. Everyone could find home and shelter there (Mt 13:32c; Mk 4:32b).

But the apostles and church veterans seemed averse to Christ's proposals; they remained insensitive to an overly broad idea of fraternity - which displaced them. This is still a live and very serious problem.

The teaching and call imposed on the disciples is to cross to the other shore (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22), that is, not to keep to oneself.

The Apostles have the task of communicating the riches of the Father to the pagans, who are considered impure and infamous.

Yet it was precisely the Master's intimates who did not want to know about risky disproportions that would actually make the Son of God's wide-ranging action stand out.

They were willingly tarred by common religiosity, and a circumscribed ideology of power.

The resistance to the divine commission, and the resulting lacerating internal debate, had already stirred up a great storm in the assemblies of believers in the 1970s.

"And behold, there came great turmoil in the sea, so that the boat was covered with waves" (Matthew 8:24).

The storm concerned the disciples alone, the only ones who were dismayed; not Jesus: "but he was asleep" (v.24c) [this is about the Risen One].

What was happening "inside" the little boat of the Church was not a mere reflection of what was happening "outside"! This is the error to be corrected.

For us too, such identification can block and make life chronic, precisely from the handling of emotionally relevant situations - which have their own meaning.

They always carry a meaningful appeal, introduce a different eye, introspection, dialogue.

In short, from the peace of the divine condition that dominates chaos, the Lord calls attention to and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of lacking Faith.

Though devout, they lack an ounce of risk. They lack love - like a mustard seed (v.26) - to bring to humanity to renew it.

And are we believers still confused, embarrassed? Is the chaos of patterns still raging - not excluding selfishness, which inexorably peeps out?

We paradoxically go the way of the Exodus, of the experience of the first; right 'knowledge', because it is direct. The only caveat: we must not be taken in by fear.

In Him, we are imbued with a different vision of danger.

Says the Tao Tê Ching (xxii): "The saint does not see by himself, therefore he is enlightened". Even in straits.

At all times it seems that Jesus expressly wanted the dark moments of confrontation and doubt for the apostles (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b). First and foremost, it will be some church leaders who will be called upon to cleanse themselves of repetitive convictions. Only in this way will their proclamation not remain misplaced.

For textbook expectations (and the habit of setting up conformist harmonies) block the flowering of what we are and hope for.

Especially what is annoying or even 'against' has something decisive to tell us.

Even in the boat of the assemblies [cf. Mk 4:36] discomfort must express itself.

"And they drew near and awoke him, saying, Lord, save us, we are lost!" (v.25).

The peril is an opportunity to revive the essence of each person and of the community itself.

The trial introduces change (hidden or repressed) and activates it in the most effective way.

Novelty comes from natural contact with hidden, primordial energies.

More than opposing frictions and conflicting external events, anxiety, impression, anguish, arise from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This can happen out of distrust: feeling the danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves to be intimately undeveloped, and incapable of other conversation; of discovering and reworking, converting, or remodelling.

The fatigue of questioning ourselves and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds, will also fade amidst the discomfort of the rough sea - which precisely does not want us to return to 'those of before'.

It is enough to disengage from the idea of stability, even religious stability, and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Even in its throng of bumps, bitterness, shattered hopes for harmony, sorrows - engaging with this flood of new emergencies, and encountering one's own deep nature.

The best vaccine against the anxieties of adventuring together with Christ on the changing waves of the unexpected. will be precisely not to avoid worries upstream - on the contrary, to go towards them and welcome them; to recognise them, to let them happen.

Even in times of global crisis, the apprehensions that seem to want to devastate us, come to us as preparatory energies of other joys that wish to break through. New cosmic attunements; for wonderment from within ourselves - and guidance from beyond.

Our little boat is in an inverted, inverted, unequal stability; uncertain, unseemly - yet energetic, prickly, capable of reinventing itself.

And it may even be excessive, but it is disruptive.

For a proposal of Tenderness (not corresponding) that is not a relaxation zone, because it rhymes with terrible anxiety and... still unfulfilled suburbs!

To internalise and live the message:

On what occasions have you found easy what before seemed impossible? Do you ever raise your voice to Jesus? By what Name did He reveal Himself to you? By what title would you call Him? Have you crossed waters you did not foresee in your plans and intentions? Who has calmed your storms? How do you experience harmony?Some other providence, which you ignore

"It is good not to fall, or to fall and rise again. And if you happen to fall, it is good not to despair and not to become estranged from the love the Sovereign has for man. For if he wills, he can do mercy to our weakness. Only let us not turn away from him, let us not be distressed if we are forced by the commandments, and let us not be disheartened if we come to nothing (...).

Let us neither hurry nor retreat, but always begin again (...).

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, either by conversion or by trials, or by some other providence that you do not know."

[Peter Damascene, Second Book, Eighth Discourse, in La Filocalia, Turin 1982, I,94]

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni. Repeatedly during the season of Advent the Church’s liturgy prays in these or similar words. They are invocations that were probably formulated as the Roman Empire was in decline. The disintegration of the key principles of law and of the fundamental moral attitudes underpinning them burst open the dams which until that time had protected peaceful coexistence among peoples. The sun was setting over an entire world. Frequent natural disasters further increased this sense of insecurity. There was no power in sight that could put a stop to this decline. All the more insistent, then, was the invocation of the power of God: the plea that he might come and protect his people from all these threats.

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni. Today too, we have many reasons to associate ourselves with this Advent prayer of the Church. For all its new hopes and possibilities, our world is at the same time troubled by the sense that moral consensus is collapsing, consensus without which juridical and political structures cannot function. Consequently the forces mobilized for the defence of such structures seem doomed to failure.

Excita – the prayer recalls the cry addressed to the Lord who was sleeping in the disciples’ storm-tossed boat as it was close to sinking. When his powerful word had calmed the storm, he rebuked the disciples for their little faith (cf. Mt 8:26 et par.). He wanted to say: it was your faith that was sleeping. He will say the same thing to us. Our faith too is often asleep. Let us ask him, then, to wake us from the sleep of a faith grown tired, and to restore to that faith the power to move mountains – that is, to order justly the affairs of the world.

[Pope Benedict, to the Roman Curia 20 December 2010]

The storm calmed on the Lake of Genesaret can be reread as a "sign" of Christ's constant presence in the "boat" of the Church, which many times throughout history is exposed to the fury of the winds during stormy hours. Jesus, awakened by the disciples, commands the winds and the sea to be becalmed. Then he says to them, "Why are you so fearful? Have you no faith yet?" (Mk 4:40). In this, as in other episodes, one can see Jesus' desire to inculcate in the apostles and disciples faith in his operative and protective presence even in the most stormy hours of history, in which doubt about his divine assistance could infiltrate the spirit. In fact, in Christian homiletics and spirituality, the miracle has often been interpreted as a 'sign' of Jesus' presence and a guarantee of trust in him on the part of Christians and the Church.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 2 December 1987]

Today’s liturgy tells the episode of the storm calmed by Jesus (Mk 4:35-41). The boat in which the disciples are crossing the lake is beaten by the wind and the waves and they fear they will sink. Jesus is with them on the boat, yet he is in the stern asleep on the cushion. Filled with fear, the disciples cry out to him: “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” (v. 38).

And quite often we too, beaten by the trials of life, have cried out to the Lord: “Why do you remain silent and do nothing for me?”. Especially when it seems we are sinking, because love or the project in which we had laid great hopes disappears; or when we are at the mercy of unrelenting waves of anxiety; or when we feel we are drowning in problems or lost amid the sea of life, with no course and no harbour. Or even, in moments in which the strength to go forward fails us, because we have no job, or an unexpected diagnosis makes us fear for our health or that of a loved one. There are many moments when we feel we are in a storm; when we feel we are almost done in.

In these situations and in many others, we too feel suffocated by fear and, like the disciples, risk losing sight of the most important thing. In the boat, in fact, even if he is sleeping, Jesus is there, and he shares with his own all that is happening. If on the one hand his slumber surprises us, on the other, it puts us to the test. The Lord is there, present; indeed, he waits — so to speak — for us to engage him, to invoke him, to put him at the centre of what we are experiencing. His slumber causes us to wake up. Because to be disciples of Jesus, it is not enough to believe God is there, that he exists, but we must put ourselves out there with him; we must also raise our voice with him. Hear this: we must cry out to him. Prayer is often a cry: “Lord, save me!”. I was watching, on the programme “In his Image”, today, the Day of Refugees, many who come in large boats and at the moment of drowning cry out: “Save us!”. In our life too the same thing happens: “Lord, save us!”, and prayer becomes a cry.

Today we can ask ourselves: what are the winds that beat against my life? What are the waves that hinder my navigation, and put my spiritual life, my family life, even my psychological life in danger? Let us say all this to Jesus; let us tell him everything. He wants this; he wants us to grab hold of him to find shelter from the unexpected waves in life. The Gospel recounts that the disciples approach Jesus, wake him and speak to him (cf. v. 38). This is the beginning of our faith: to recognize that alone we are unable to stay afloat; that we need Jesus like sailors need the stars to find their course. Faith begins from believing that we are not enough for ourselves, from feeling in need of God. When we overcome the temptation to close ourselves off, when we overcome the false religiosity that does not want to disturb God, when we cry out to him, he can work wonders in us. It is the gentle and extraordinary power of prayer, which works miracles.

Jesus, begged by the disciples, calms the wind and waves. And he asks them a question, a question which also pertains to us: “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” (v. 40). The disciples were gripped with fear, because they were focused on the waves more than on looking at Jesus. And fear leads us to look at the difficulties, the awful problems, and not to look at the Lord, who many times is sleeping. It is this way for us too: how often we remain fixated on problems rather than going to the Lord and casting our concerns to him! How often we leave the Lord in a corner, at the bottom of the boat of life, to wake him only in a moment of need! Today, let us ask for the grace of a faith that never tires of seeking the Lord, of knocking at the door of his Heart. May the Virgin Mary, who in her life never stopped trusting in God, reawaken in us the basic need of entrusting ourselves to him each day.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 20 June 2021]

(Mt 16:13-19)

Over half of his public life, Jesus has not yet given formulas, but He raises a demanding question - which claims to ask us much more than the usual expressions with a legal structure.

The crowd may have approached Him to eminent characters such as the Baptist [the one who proved to be alien to courtiers] or Elijah [for his activity of denouncing idols] or Jeremiah [the opponent of the blessings’ sale].

But He did not come - like ancient prophets - to improve the situation or to regret and mend devotions, nor to purify the Temple, but to replace it!

The images of tradition depict Christ in many ways (for atheists a philanthropist), the most widespread of which is still that of an ancient Lord, guarantor of conventional behavior.

Instead - to make us reflect - He takes the disciples to a construction site environment [north of Palestine, Caesarea Philippi was under construction], far from the interested nomenclature of the "holy" City.

Common mentality evaluated the life’ success - and the truth of a religion - on the basis of glory, domination, enrichment, and security in general.

The question that Jesus rises his disciples leaks a novelty that supplants the whole system: the Call is addressed to every single person.

It is a border proposal, like the symbolic geographical place of the capital of the reign of Philip, one of the three heir sons of Herod the Great: in Palestine, the farthest point from the center of conformist religiosity.

The Face of the «Son of man» is recognizable only by placing maximum distance from political and veterans schemes - otherwise we too would not be able to perceive His personal ‘light’.

In the community of Mt, an increasingly large participation of pagans was being experienced, who previously felt excluded and gradually integrated.

For our mentality, the house keys are used to close and tighten the door, to prevent the attackers from entering.

In the Semitic one, they were rather an icon of the door’s opening.

In Perugino’s famous masterpiece on the north wall of the Sistine Chapel, Jesus gives the head of the Church two keys: the golden one of Paradise and the silver of Purgatory.

But the meaning of the passage is not the Afterlife - on the contrary, it is not even institutional. In Hebrew the term ‘key’ is derived from the verb ‘to open’!

The greatest missionary task of community leaders is to keep the Kingdom of Heaven wide open, that is, to ensure a welcoming Church!

Peter must not trace the type of arrogant monarch, image of authority; emperor’ substitute.

Simon must take first responsibility for the acceptance of those who are outside.

It seems strange for any ancient proposal, where God was supposed to be afraid of becoming impure in contact with the world.

The Father is the One who dares the most.

This is the reason why Jesus strictly imposes a total messianic silence (v.20) on the lips and the ancient brain of the Apostles.

Peter and the disciples wanted to return to the usual idea of «the» Messiah [cf. Greek text] expected by everyone.

An all too normal canvas, incapable of regenerating us.

[St Peter and Paul, June 29]

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, 29 June

Disparate: difference between religiosity and faith (the Church to come)

On the same date, the Church celebrates two dissimilar disciples.

Both are far removed from models of conformity and eccentricity - indeed, they are digressive, unsettling and restless.

One grows by accumulating uncertain experiences: a little like Peter (stubborn and hostile), a little like Simon (a disciple, but rarely), a little like Simon Peter (pro and con, with one foot in both camps).

The other grows, yes, but through an immediate fall from the ideology of being and feeling purer and higher than others:

in an instant, from the fiery 'steed' of the leaders and judges to the working class capable of listening and benevolence.

Suddenly, from Saul to Paul.

The first, an apostle out of eagerness and long habit [in coming and going], the other by direct calling. Not by the laying on of hands by superiors with pious lives who should have known better than him.

An immediate vocation - it upsets and overturns the way of seeing things.

Neither of the two protagonists was a devout and obedient son: both were rather stubborn and eager, but each in his own way; one uncertain and diplomatic, the other sharp.

For a long time they were restless and even opposed to Christ.

Even in the Proclamation, Catechesis, Animation, Pastoral Care and works of charity, we begin to realise that the starting point of Evangelisation is not the usual, reassuring one, which only teaches others [and transmits false security].

The input is to raise questions that involve people personally.

And any initiative is useful first and foremost to improve those who propose it - not the crowds who would otherwise remain unaware.

This is the cornerstone of the attitude towards the fullness of good and the fulfilment of every human being.

In the unity of the Faith, diverse gifts come together.

We are not called to be paternalistic or firefighters, rushing to extinguish fires that we do not even know about but which burn brightly (only beyond the chimney of our own homes).

The Church of the future also depends on our mindset.

The cornerstone of living Tradition is believing in the world to come - not despite, but because of its differences.

Divine love manifests itself, makes itself present, intervenes in many ways.

The sparks that fuel the Flame of the Spirit are varied: they all illuminate and warm the world... unless we build a wall of refractory material around them.

This sometimes happens in the territory, at the hands of consortia. With young people's cunning already normalised, or old fogies afraid of losing the privileges on which they float.

A scene of cunning and still waters, already reeking of death.

But in the personal Christ, even our insecurity opens unexplored paths to new worlds.

Every missionary knows that his 'certainty' is the fruit of a question mark.

An added value that he does not know; the product of a primordial force that arises from the chaos of his own or others' predictability.

The varied formation and even the turmoil of the facets become a place of Peace.

Possibility of the Immense, rather than a foothold for retreat under penalty of punishment typical of religious condemnation.

While doctrine and discipline instil certainties and stubborn expectations that would make us travel only on tracks already laid out, Faith allows itself to be guided by Providence manifested in real life, which surprises us.

An adherence, a creative relationship - Faith - with a mysterious Energy, always pure, clear, transparent, intact, uncontaminated.

An appeal by name that brings us face to face with ourselves and God, without ever depersonalising.

Only in this way can we achieve harmony. This is the church of the future.

In fact, those who are uncertain and cannot immediately draw conclusions go all the way: they do not abandon, marginalise or betray; they do not use their religious position as a weapon of blackmail.

They do no harm.

«When the weaver raises one foot, the other lowers. When the movement stops and one of the feet stops, the fabric is no longer woven. His hands throw the shuttle from one to the other, but no hand can hope to hold it. Like the weaver's gestures, it is the union of opposites that weaves our life».

[African Peul oral tradition]

Homage to the Polyhedron and not to the Sphere. Diversity and Plurality mean space for each of us, as we are. Expanded, not 'better'.

Not homogeneous, not regular, not standardised. Even if the local chain of command does not want it.

Homage to the Church? Not the uniform and standard one. The strange couple Peter and Paul were not.

Homage to the Church, Homage to Life.

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, 29 June

    On the very same date, the Church celebrates two very different disciples.

Both are entirely removed from models of conformity and uneccentric holiness – indeed, they are wayward, neither reassuring nor tranquil.

One grows by accumulating uncertain experiences: a bit like Peter (stubborn and hostile), a bit like Simon (a disciple, but rarely so), a bit like Simon Peter (for and against, with one foot in each camp).

The other does indeed grow, but through an immediate fall from the ideology of being and feeling purer and superior to others:

in an instant, from the fiery ‘steed’ of the leaders and judges, to the common folk capable of listening and showing kindness.

Suddenly, from Saul to Paul.

The first, an Apostle through zeal and long habit [of coming and going]; the other through a direct Calling. Not through the laying on of hands by superiors of pious lives who ought to have known better than him.

An immediate vocation – it unsettles, turns one’s way of seeing the world on its head.

Neither of the two protagonists was a devout and obedient son: both were rather headstrong and impetuous, but each in his own way; one in an uncertain and diplomatic manner, the other in a sharp-tongued one.

For a long time, they were restless and even opponents of Christ.

Even in Proclamation, Catechesis, Animation, Pastoral Care and works of charity, we are beginning to realise that the starting point for evangelisation is not the usual, reassuring one, which merely teaches others [and conveys false certainties].

The aim is to raise questions that engage people personally.

And any initiative serves, first and foremost, to improve those who propose it – not the crowds who lack awareness.

This is the cornerstone of our attitude towards the full good and the fulfilment of every human being.

In the unity of the Faith, diverse gifts converge.

We are not called to be paternalistic, nor to act as firefighters: rushing to extinguish little fires that we do not even know about but which are burning well (only beyond the hood of our own fireplace).

The Church of the future also depends on our mindset.

The cornerstone of the living Tradition is belief in the world to come – not in spite of, but thanks to its differences.

Divine love manifests itself, makes itself present, and intervenes in many ways.

The sparks that feed the Flame of the Spirit are varied: they all illuminate and warm the world. … unless a wall of refractory bricks is built around them.

This sometimes happens on the ground, at the hands of interest groups. Through youthful cunning that has already become the norm, or old fogies fearful of losing the privileges upon which they float.

A landscape of cunning and still waters, already dead.

But in the personal Christ, even our insecurity opens up unexplored paths towards new worlds.

Every missionary knows their ‘certainty’ to be the fruit of a question mark.

An added value they do not recognise; the product of a primordial force that rises from the chaos of their own or others’ predictability.

The varied formation and even the turmoil of its many facets become a place of Peace.

A possibility of the Immense, rather than a pretext for retreat under threat of punishment typical of religious condemnations.

Whilst doctrine and discipline instil certainties and stubborn expectations that would have us travel only along pre-determined tracks, Faith allows itself to be guided by Providence as manifested in real life, which takes us by surprise.

An adherence, a creative Relationship – Faith – born of a mysterious Energy, always pure, clear, transparent, intact, uncontaminated.

A call by Name that brings us face to face with ourselves and God, without ever depersonalising us.

Only in this way can harmony be achieved. This is the church to come.

Indeed, those who are uncertain and cannot immediately draw conclusions see things through to the end: they do not abandon, they do not marginalise, they do not betray; they do not use their religious position as a weapon of blackmail.

They do no harm.

‘When the weaver lifts one foot, the other comes down. When the movement ceases and one of the feet stops, the fabric is no longer woven. His hands throw the shuttle as it passes from one to the other; but no hand can hope to hold it. Like the weaver’s gestures, it is the union of opposites that weaves our lives.’

[African Fulani oral tradition]

A tribute to the Polyhedron, not the Sphere. Diversity and Plurality mean space for each of us, just as we are. Expanded, not ‘better’.

Not homogeneous, not regular, not standardised. Even if the local chain of command does not want it.

A tribute to the Church? Not the uniform, standardised one. The odd couple, Peter and Paul, were not like that.

A tribute to the Church, a tribute to life.

Who I Am, the Keys, Faith, the Name

Who am I to you, and the Keys to the open community

(Mt 16:13–23)

    More than halfway through his public life, Jesus has not yet offered any formulas, but poses a challenging question – one that demands far more of us than the usual legalistic expressions.

Broadly speaking, the crowd may have likened him to eminent figures such as John the Baptist [who proved himself a stranger to courtly flattery] or Elijah [for his denunciation of idols] or Jeremiah [the opponent of the buying and selling of blessings].

But He did not come – like the ancient prophets – to improve the situation or patch up devotions, nor to purify the Temple, but rather to replace it!

Traditional imagery depicts Christ in many ways (as a philanthropist to atheists), the most widespread of which is still that of an ancient Lord, the guarantor of conventional behaviour.

He, on the other hand – to make us reflect – takes his disciples to a building site [in northern Palestine; Caesarea Philippi was under construction], far from the self-serving rhetoric of the ‘holy’ City.

The common mindset judged the success of life – and the truth of a religion – on the basis of success, dominance, wealth and security in general.

The question Jesus poses to his disciples reveals a novelty that upends the entire system: the Call is addressed to every single person.

It is a proposal that pushes boundaries, much like the symbolic geographical location of the capital of the kingdom of Philip, one of the three sons and heirs of Herod the Great: in Palestine, the point furthest from the centre of conformist religiosity.

The Face of the ‘Son of Man’ can only be recognised by placing oneself as far as possible from political schemes and the established order – otherwise we too would be unable to perceive his personal ‘light’.

In the community described in Matthew, there was indeed an experience of an ever-increasing participation of Gentiles, who had previously felt excluded but were gradually becoming integrated.

In our way of thinking, house keys are used to lock and bolt the front door, to keep out intruders.

In the Semitic tradition, however, they were rather a symbol of opening the door.

In Perugino’s famous masterpiece on the north wall of the Sistine Chapel, Jesus hands the head of the Church two keys: the golden key to Paradise and the silver key to Purgatory.

But the meaning of the passage is not about the afterlife – indeed, it is not even institutional in nature. In Hebrew, the term ‘key’ is derived from the verb ‘to open’!

The primary missionary task of community leaders is to keep the Kingdom of Heaven wide open, that is, to ensure a welcoming Church!

Peter must not emulate the archetype of the arrogant monarch, an image of authority standing in for the emperor.

Simon must take primary responsibility for welcoming those who are outside.

This seems strange by the standards of any ancient teaching, where it was assumed that God feared becoming defiled through contact with the world.

The Father is the One who dares the most.

This is why Jesus strictly imposes total messianic silence (v.20) upon the lips and the traditional mindset of the Apostles.

Peter and the disciples wanted to return to the familiar idea of ‘the’ Messiah [cf. Greek text] awaited by all.

A script that is far too ordinary, incapable of renewing us.

But who do you say that I am? Peter’s Faith

Distancing oneself from what one hopes for

    Jesus leads his followers away from the realm of the ideology of power and from the sacred centre of the official religious institution – Judea.

The Lord wants his closest followers to distance themselves from limitations and expectations.

The relative success achieved by the Master in Galilee had, in fact, rekindled the apostles’ hopes of (one-sided) glory.

The region of Caesarea Philippi, in the far north of Palestine, was enchanting; renowned for its fertility and lush pastures. An area famous for the beauty of its surroundings and the abundance of its flocks and herds.

Even the disciples were captivated by the landscape and the comfortable lifestyle of the region’s inhabitants; not to mention the magnificence of the palaces.

The reference to the setting alludes to the comforts generally offered by pagan religion; excessive prosperity that enchanted the Twelve.

Christ asks the apostles – in effect – what the people expected of Him. In this way, He wants them to realise the harmful effects of their own preaching.

A ‘proclamation’ that readily conflated material and spiritual blessings.

Whilst the gods demonstrate their ability to shower their devotees with riches – and a lavish court life that (precisely) captivated everyone – what does Christ offer?

The Master realises that the disciples were still heavily influenced by the propaganda of the political and religious authorities [vv. 6, 11], which promised prosperity [vv. 5–12; cf. Mt 15:32–38].

And Jesus instructs them once more, so that at least his emissaries might overcome the blindness and the crisis brought about by his Cross (v. 21), by the commitment required in the spirit of self-giving.

He is not merely a follower of the Baptist’s uncompromising stance, never inclined to compromise with the courts or opulence; nor is he one of the many restorers of the Law of Moses, with the zeal of Elijah.

Nor did he wish merely to purify religion of spurious elements, but rather to take the place of the Temple [Mt 21:12–17, 18–19, 42; 23:2, 37–39; 24:30] – the place of encounter between the Father and his children.

On this issue, at that time, the rifts were particularly acute, not only with regard to paganism, but also in the conflicts between Jews who had converted to the Lord and those who observed the tradition.

Indeed, the sacred texts of late Judaism spoke of great figures who had left their mark on the history of Israel, and who were expected to reappear to usher in the messianic age.

Even within the persecuted communities of Galilee and Syria, Matthew notes a lack of understanding and the great difficulty in embracing the new proposal – one which offered no guarantee of success or recognition, nor any immediate rewards.

(From the very first generations, it was realised that Faith does not easily align with our most basic human impulses: indeed, it is disconcerting, given our obvious perspectives and instincts).

Thus the Master contradicts Peter himself [vv. 20, 23], whose view remained tied to the conformist and populist idea of ‘the’ [vv. 16, 20: ‘that’] expected Messiah.

In short, the leader of the apostles – so weak in faith – must stop pointing out to Christ which path to follow ‘behind’ him [v. 23], thereby leading him astray!

Simon must start afresh as a disciple; he must stop laying out for everyone well-trodden and opportunistic paths, hijacking God in God’s own name.

The Lord is the One who dares the most.

A special note on the subject of the Name:

Whilst in our culture it is often merely a label, amongst Eastern peoples the name is one and the same with the person, and designates them in a special way.

As can be seen, for example, in the ‘second’ commandment, the power of the Name carries great weight: it is a matter of knowing the (divine) Subject in essence and in the meaning of action; almost a taking hold of His power.

Even in our own tradition of prayer, spirituality and mysticism, the proper Name (e.g. Jesus) has often been regarded as almost an auditory icon of the person, embodying their virtues; evocative of their presence and power.

In ancient cultures, uttering a name meant being able to grasp the seed, the meaningful and all-encompassing core of the figure in question.

Not infrequently, even in our own way of thinking, it has been seen as expressing an omen, a mandate, a wish, a blessing, a vocation, a destiny, a task, a calling, a mission [nomen (est) omen].

But this is where the difference between a sacred mindset and Faith becomes apparent. In religions, the proper name that the master or founder bestows upon the disciple is a sort of signpost: anyone lacking the insight, fortune, strength or courage to fulfil it would diminish in dignity.

Christ, on the other hand, through his titles, calls us to follow a path – certainly – but one that is deeply commensurate with our essence.

He spurs us on to an exodus – not according to set models – because first he leads the person back into themselves. So that we may all put ourselves on the line, deeply and to the extent that is appropriate.

First step: to encounter ourselves in our entirety; in our various facets, even the surprising, unexpressed or unknown ones – generally, traits unimaginable according to rules and classifications.

Even our eccentric, ambiguous, hidden or even personally rejected ways of being: these will reveal the best sides of ourselves along the Way.

Only on this multifaceted path do we find the way to an adventure rich in meaning; not mechanical, nor repetitive – but rather like life itself: always new and authentic.

Not starting from superficial appearances or calculated pretences: there is an Author’s signature that precedes us, in the building up of ourselves and the world.

Passing through the various building sites in the city of Philip, Jesus instead chose to compare Simon to the inert, piled-up materials (even in a rather haphazard manner) that lay before him.

That situation struck at the very root of the apostles’ expectations!

The disciples had not yet made room within themselves for the Mystery, for the idea of a secret salvation that bursts forth with its own innate energy; one that transcends ordinary dreams.

‘Cefa’ is in fact derived from the Aramaic ‘Kefas’: a building stone; something hard: in practical terms, a stubborn man like so many others; nothing special, quite the contrary. Jesus gives Simon a derogatory nickname!

In fact, the Greek term ‘petros’ [v.18] is not a proper name: it refers to a stone (picked up from the ground) which can indeed be useful for building – provided, of course, it is shaped to fit. And which not only supports, but is supported; which not only brings together, but is brought together.

Note: the Greek term ‘petra’ [v.18] is not the feminine form of ‘petros’: it means ‘rock’, and refers to the Person of Christ, our sole security (together with faith in Him).

A name that unpredictably transforms an entire life. For it is only the inner Friend who draws from our [even flawed] baggage that which is unforeseen and which wells up.

Each of us is chiselled by the Lord according to the name Peter, in the sense of a unique piece, an individual and special element.

Placed in a singular way yet within a great mosaic: that of the history of salvation, where each of us is simultaneously ourselves and in a constant state of regeneration.

The sole sense of belonging shared by the many building stones (all living): the conviviality of differences, the communion of disparate fraternal members within the ministerial Church.

None for ever, but everywhere (ceaselessly) pulsating nuclei of a humble institution, entirely gathered from the earth… Freed without cost.

Catholicity means universality - a multiplicity that becomes unity; a unity that nevertheless remains multiplicity. From Paul's words on the Church's universality we have already seen that the ability of nations to get the better of themselves in order to look towards the one God, is part of this unity. In the second century, the founder of Catholic theology, St Irenaeus of Lyons, described very beautifully this bond between catholicity and unity and I quote him. He says: "The Church spread across the world diligently safeguards this doctrine and this faith, forming as it were one family: the same faith, with one mind and one heart, the same preaching, teaching and tradition as if she had but one mouth. Languages abound according to the region but the power of our tradition is one and the same. The Churches in Germany do not differ in faith or tradition, neither do those in Spain, Gaul, Egypt, Libya, the Orient, the centre of the earth; just as the sun, God's creature, is one alone and identical throughout the world, so the light of true preaching shines everywhere and illuminates all who desire to attain knowledge of the truth" (Adv. Haer. I 10, 2). The unity of men and women in their multiplicity has become possible because God, this one God of heaven and earth, has shown himself to us; because the essential truth about our lives, our "where from?" and "where to?" became visible when he revealed himself to us and enabled us to see his face, himself, in Jesus Christ. This truth about the essence of our being, living and dying, a truth that God made visible, unites us and makes us brothers and sisters. Catholicity and unity go hand in hand. And unity has a content: the faith that the Apostles passed on to us in Christ's name.

[Pope Benedict, 29 June 2005]

1. "Who do you say that I am?" (Mt 16: 15).

Jesus asks the disciples this question about his identity while he is with them in upper Galilee. It often happened that they would ask Jesus questions; now it is he who questions them. His is a precise question that awaits an answer. Simon Peter speaks for them all:  "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (Mt 16: 16).

The answer is extraordinarily clear. The Church's faith is perfectly reflected in it. We are reflected in it too. The Bishop of Rome, his unworthy successor by divine will, is particularly reflected in Peter's words. Around him and with him you are reflected in these words, dear Metropolitan Archbishops, who have come here from many parts of the world to receive the pallium on the Solemnity of Sts Peter and Paul.

I offer my cordial greetings to each of you, a greeting which I gladly extend to those who have accompanied you to Rome and to your communities who are spiritually united with us on this solemn occasion.

2. "You are the Christ!". Jesus replies to Peter's confession:  "Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jona! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven" (Mt 16: 17).

Blessed are you, Peter! Blessed because you could not have humanly recognized this truth, which is central to the Church's faith, except by God's action. "No one", Jesus said, "knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and any one to whom the Son chooses to reveal him" (Mt 11: 27).

We are reflecting on this extraordinarily rich Gospel passage:  the incarnate Word had revealed the Father to his disciples; now is the moment when the Father himself reveals his only Only-begotten Son to them. Peter receives inner enlightenment and courageously proclaims:  "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God!".

These words on Peter's lips come from the depths of God's mystery. They reveal the intimate truth, the very life of God. And Peter, under the action of the divine Spirit, becomes a witness and confessor of this superhuman truth. His profession of faith thus forms the firm basis of the Church's faith:  "On this rock I will build my Church" (Mt 16: 18). The Church of Christ is built on Peter's faith and fidelity.

The first Christian community was very conscious of this. As the Acts of the Apostles recount, when Peter was in prison it gathered to raise an earnest prayer to God for him (cf. Acts 12: 5). It was heard, because Peter's presence was still necessary for the community as it took its first steps:  the Lord sent his angel to free him from the hands of his persecutors (cf. ibid., 12: 7-11). It was written in God's plan that Peter, after long strengthening his brothers in faith, would undergo martyrdom here in Rome together with Paul, the Apostle of the nations, who had also escaped death several times.

3. "The Lord stood by me and gave me strength to proclaim the word fully, that all the Gentiles might hear it" (2 Tm 4: 17). These are the words of Paul to his faithful disciple Timothy:  we heard them in the second reading. They testify to what the Lord accomplished in him after he chose him as a minister of the Gospel and "grasped" him on the road to Damascus (cf. Phil 3: 12).

The Lord had come to him in a blaze of light, saying:  "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? " (Acts 9: 4), while a mysterious force threw him to the ground. "Who are you, Lord?", Saul had asked him. "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting!" (Acts 9: 5). This was Christ's answer. Saul had been persecuting Jesus' followers, and Jesus told him that it was he himself who was being persecuted in them. He, Jesus of Nazareth, the Crucified One who Christians said had risen. If Saul now experienced his powerful presence, it was clear that God really had raised him from the dead. He, in fact, was the Messiah awaited by Israel; he was the Christ living and present in the Church and in the world!

Could Saul have understood with his reason alone all that such an event entailed? Certainly not! It was, in fact, part of God's mysterious plan. It would be the Father who would give Paul the grace of knowing the mystery of the redemption accomplished in Christ. It would be God who would enable him to understand the marvellous reality of the Church, which lives for Christ, with Christ and in Christ. And he, who had come to share in this truth, would continuously and tirelessly proclaim it to the very ends of the earth.

From Damascus, Paul would begin his apostolic journey which would lead him to spread the Gospel in so many parts of the then known world. His missionary zeal would thus help to fulfil the command Christ gave to the Apostles:  "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations ..." (Mt 28:  19).

4. Dear Brothers in the Episcopate who have come to receive the pallium, your presence eloquently highlights the Church's universal dimension which sprang from the Lord's command:  "Go ... and make disciples of all nations" (Mt 28: 19).

You come, in fact, from 15 countries on four continents and were called by the Lord to be Pastors of Metropolitan Churches. The conferral of the pallium clearly stresses the special bond of communion which joins you to the See of Peter and expresses the Church's universal nature.
Whenever you wear these pallia, remember, dear Brothers, that as Pastors we are called to safeguard the purity of the Gospel and the unity of Christ's Church, founded on the "rock" of Peter's faith. The Lord calls us to this; this is our inescapable mission as far-sighted guides of the flock which the Lord has entrusted to us.

5. The full unity of the Church! I feel Christ's command echoing within me. It is a particularly urgent command at the beginning of this new millennium. Let us pray and work for this, without ever growing weary of hoping.

With these sentiments, I affectionately embrace and greet the Delegation from the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople, which has come to celebrate with us the liturgical feast of Peter and Paul. Thank you, Venerable Brothers, for your presence and for your heartfelt participation in this solemn liturgical celebration. May God grant us to achieve as soon as possible the full unity of all believers in Christ.

May we obtain this gift through the Apostles Peter and Paul, who are remembered by the Church of Rome on this day that commemorates their martyrdom and therefore their birth to life in God. For the sake of the Gospel they accepted suffering and death, and became sharers in the Lord's Resurrection. Their faith, confirmed by martyrdom, is the same faith as that of Mary, the Mother of believers, of the Apostles and of the saints of every age.

Today the Church again proclaims their faith. It is our faith, the Church's unchanging faith in Jesus, the only Saviour of the world; in Christ, the Son of the living God, who died and rose for us and for all humanity.

[Pope John Paul II, 29 June 2000]

Saints Peter and Paul, whom we celebrate today, are sometimes depicted in icons as they support the edifice of the Church. This reminds us of the words in today’s Gospel in which Jesus says to Peter: “you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church” (Mt 16:18). It is the first time that Jesus utters the word ‘Church’ but more than the noun, I would like to invite you today to think about the adjective, which is possessive, ‘my’: my Church. Jesus does not speak of the Church as an external reality, but he expresses the great love he has for her: my Church. He is devoted to the Church, to us. Saint Paul writes: “Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Eph 5:25), that is, the Apostle explains, Jesus loves the Church as his bride. For the Lord we are not a group of believers or a religious organization. We are his bride. He looks upon his Church with tenderness. He loves her with absolute fidelity despite our mistakes and our betrayals. As he said that day to Peter, he says to all of us today: “my Church, you are my Church”.

And we too can repeat it: my Church. We do not say this with a sense of exclusive belonging but rather with an inclusive love. Not to distinguish ourselves from others but to appreciate the beauty of being with others because Jesus wants us to be united and open. Indeed the Church is not ‘mine’ because she responds to my ego, to my desires, but rather, because I pour my affection into her. She is mine because I care for her, because, like the Apostles in the icon, I too support her. How? With fraternal love. With our fraternal love we can say: my Church.

In another icon, Saints Peter and Paul are depicted as they are locked in an embrace. They were very different from each other: a fisherman and a Pharisee with rather different life experiences, characters, ways of doing things and sensitivities. Contrasting opinions and frank debates between them were not lacking (cf. Gal 2:11). But what united them was infinitely greater: Jesus was the Lord of both, together they would say “my Lord” to the One who says “my Church”. Brothers in the faith, they invite us to rediscover the joy of being brothers and sisters in the Church. On this feast day that unites two Apostles who were so different from each other, it would be beautiful for each of us to also say: “Thank you, Lord, for that person who is different from me: he or she is a gift for my Church”. We are different but this enriches us; it is brotherhood. It is good for us to appreciate the qualities of others, to recognize the gifts of others without malice or envy. Envy! Envy causes bitterness inside; it is vinegar to the heart. The envious have a bitter gaze. Many times when one meets an envious person, one feels like asking: what did he have for breakfast today, a caffelatte or vinegar? Because envy is sour. It makes life sour. Instead, how beautiful it is to know that we belong to each other because we share the same faith, the same love, the same hope, the same Lord. We belong to each other: and this is splendid, to say: our Church! Fraternity.

At the end of the Gospel Jesus says to Peter: “Tend my sheep” (Jn 21:17). He speaks of us and says “my sheep” with the same tenderness with which he says my Church. Jesus loves us with such love, such tenderness! He feels we are his own. This is the affection that edifies the Church. Through the intercession of the Apostles, today let us invoke the grace to love our Church. Let us ask for eyes that are able to see our brothers and sisters in her, a heart that knows how to welcome others with the tender love that Jesus has for us. And let us ask for the strength to pray for those who do not think as we do — this one thinks differently; I pray for him — pray and love, which is the opposite of gossiping, perhaps behind one’s back. Never speak ill of someone, pray and love. May Our Lady who brought harmony among the Apostles and prayed with them, (cf. Acts 1:14) keep us as brothers and sisters in the Church.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 29 June 2019]