After reviewing the various members of the family — mother, father, children, siblings, grandparents —, I would like to conclude this first group of catecheses on the family by speaking about children. I will do so in two phases: today I will focus on the great gift that children are for humanity — it is true they are a great gift for humanity, but also really excluded because they are not even allowed to be born — and the next time I shall focus on several wounds that unfortunately harm childhood. Who come to mind are the many children I met during my recent journey to Asia: full of life, of enthusiasm, and, on the other hand, I see that in the world, many of them live in unworthy conditions.... In fact, from the way children are treated society can be judged, not only morally but also sociologically, whether it is a liberal society or a society enslaved by international interests.

First of all children remind us that we all, in the first years of life, were completely dependent upon the care and benevolence of others. The Son of God was not spared this stage. It is the mystery that we contemplate every year at Christmas. The Nativity Scene is the icon which communicates this reality in the simplest and most direct way. It is curious: God has no difficulty in making Himself understood by children, and children have no difficulty in understanding God. It is not by chance that in the Gospel there are several very beautiful and powerful words of Jesus regarding the “little ones”. This term, “babes”, refers to all the people who depend on the help of others, and to children in particular. For example, Jesus says: “I thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hidden these things from the wise and understanding, and revealed them to babes” (Mt 11:25). And again: “See that you do not despise one of these little ones: for I tell you that in heaven their angels always behold the face of my Father who is in heaven” (Mt 18:10).

Thus, children are in and of themselves a treasure for humanity and also for the Church, for they constantly evoke that necessary condition for entering the Kingdom of God: that of not considering ourselves self-sufficient, but in need of help, of love, of forgiveness. We all are in need of help, of love and of forgiveness! Children remind us of another beautiful thing: they remind us that we are always sons and daughters. Even if one becomes an adult, or an elderly person, even if one becomes a parent, if one occupies a position of responsibility, underneath all of this is still the identity of a child. We are all sons and daughters. And this always brings us back to the fact that we did not give ourselves life but that we received it. The great gift of life is the first gift that we received. Sometimes in life we risk forgetting about this, as if we were the masters of our existence, and instead we are fundamentally dependent. In reality, it is a motive of great joy to feel at every stage of life, in every situation, in every social condition, that we are and we remain sons and daughters. This is the main message that children give us, by their very presence: simply by their presence they remind us that each and every one of us is a son or daughter.

But there are so many gifts, so many riches that children bring to humanity. I shall mention only a few.

They bring their way of seeing reality, with a trusting and pure gaze. A child has spontaneous trust in his father and mother; he has spontaneous trust in God, in Jesus, in Our Lady. At the same time, his interior gaze is pure, not yet tainted by malice, by duplicity, by the “incrustations” of life which harden the heart. We know that children are also marked by original sin, that they are selfish, but they preserve purity, and interior simplicity. But children are not diplomats: they say what they feel, say what they see, directly. And so often they put their parents in difficulty, saying in front of other people: “I don’t like this because it is ugly”. But children say what they see, they are not two-faced, they have not yet learned that science of duplicity that we adults have unfortunately learned.

Furthermore, children — in their interior simplicity — bring with them the capacity to receive and give tenderness. Tenderness is having a heart “of flesh” and not “of stone”, as the Bible says (cf. Ezek 36:26). Tenderness is also poetry: it is “feeling” things and events, not treating them as mere objects, only to use them, because they are useful....

Children have the capacity to smile and to cry. Some, when I pick them up to embrace them, smile; others see me dressed in white and think I am a doctor and that I am going to vaccinate them, and they cry... spontaneously! Children are like this: they smile and cry, two things which are often “stifled” in grown-ups, we are no longer capable.... So often our smile becomes a cardboard smile, fixed, a smile that is not natural, even an artificial smile, like a clown. Children smile spontaneously and cry spontaneously. It always depends on the heart, and often our heart is blocked and loses this capacity to smile, to cry. So children can teach us how to smile and cry again. But we must ask ourselves: do I smile spontaneously, frankly, with love or is my smile artificial? Do I still cry or have I lost the capacity to cry? These are two very human questions that children teach us.

For all these reasons Jesus invited his disciples to “become like children”, because “the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like them” (cf. Mt 18:3; Mk 10:14).

Dear brothers and sisters, children bring life, cheerfulness, hope, also troubles. But such is life. Certainly, they also bring worries and sometimes many problems; but better a society with these worries and these problems, than a sad, grey society because it is without children! When we see that the birth rate of a society is barely one percent, we can say that this society is sad, it is grey because it has no children.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 18 March 2015]

The Transfiguration of the Lord (year A)  [6 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Daniel (7:9–10, 13–14) 

The text recounts a vision of the prophet Daniel, written during the persecution of the Jews by Antiochus IV Epiphanes in the 2nd century BC. Its purpose is to encourage and console the suffering people. Daniel first sees God, depicted as an ‘Ancient of Days’ seated on a throne of fire, surrounded by millions of servants. It is an image of justice and victory: God is about to judge the persecutors and bring justice to the faithful. Next, the ‘Son of Man’ appears; he is brought before God on the clouds of heaven and receives power, glory and an eternal kingdom. It resembles a scene of a messianic coronation.

Who is the Son of Man? The explanation given in the text of Daniel itself is surprising: the Son of Man does not initially represent a single person, but the ‘people of the saints of the Most High’, that is, Israel faithful to God, especially that small group which remains faithful during persecution. The message is therefore clear: today you are oppressed, but God will grant you victory and his Kingdom will be eternal. After their deliverance from persecution, many Jews continued to interpret this prophecy as referring to the future. Some began to await not an individual Messiah, but a collective Messiah: the faithful people of Israel, called precisely the ‘Son of Man’. And here is the new insight brought by Jesus. Jesus of Nazareth takes up the title ‘Son of Man’, but gives it a deeper meaning: it does not simply refer to ‘a man’, but to the whole of humanity; Jesus applies it to himself more than eighty times in the Gospels; he unites two aspects that were separate in Daniel: glory and suffering. For Jesus, the Son of Man is not merely the glorious King who receives the Kingdom, but also the one who suffers, is rejected and dies before entering into glory. After the Resurrection, the disciples realise that Jesus is both man and God. He is the head of a new humanity, and all those united to him form one body. Therefore, Daniel’s prophecy is fully fulfilled in Christ and in his people: believers are called to share in his kingship and his glory.

This, then, is the central message: God created humanity to share in his dignity and his Kingdom. Suffering and persecution do not have the final say: the ultimate destiny of the faithful is to share in God’s victory and his eternal kingdom.

Responsorial Psalm (96/97) 

A constant struggle against idolatry: this could be the commentary on Psalm 96/97 (‘The Lord reigns’) to highlight a fundamental theme of the Bible: the constant struggle against idolatry and the affirmation that there is only one God.

When the psalm proclaims: ‘The Lord is King; let the earth rejoice’, it affirms that God is the one true sovereign of the universe. The expressions: ‘You reign above all gods; let all gods bow down before him’, do not mean that there are other inferior gods, but that all false deities and idols are nothing in the face of the one God of Israel.

In the Jewish faith, the fundamental principle is: ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God is the one and only Lord.’ Israel always lived in close contact with polytheistic peoples and was often tempted to adopt their cults. For this reason, the prophets denounced the people’s unfaithfulness, comparing it to that of a wife who betrays her husband. However, alongside their rebuke, they always proclaimed God’s forgiveness and mercy. The text recalls that the first chapter of the Book of Genesis was written in contrast to the religious beliefs of Babylon. Whilst Babylonian myths spoke of many gods fighting amongst themselves and of humanity created to be slaves, the Bible affirms that: there is only one God;  creation is good; man and woman are created in the image of God; human beings are called to rule over creation and not to be its slaves. Even the sun and the moon are not named, to prevent them from being worshipped as deities: they are simply ‘luminaries’ in the service of life. God, Lord of the universe, and the psalm describes God’s manifestation with majestic imagery: fire, lightning, clouds, earthquakes, mountains melting like wax. These images recall Moses’ theophany on Mount Sinai and serve to demonstrate divine power and majesty. A universal message of joy emerges, and the expression ‘The Lord is King; let the earth rejoice’

means that God’s kingdom concerns not only Israel, but all humanity.

Indeed, the Bible always combines two ideas: the election of Israel and the salvation intended for all peoples. God’s plan is universal and oriented towards joy, justice and peace. Finally, the psalm invites us to believe that God guides history towards a future of peace and happiness for all. Even when the world seems dominated by wars, violence and injustice, the believer is called to maintain hope and to work together so that God’s plan may be realised. The commentary’s final observation is very practical: peace and joy are possible, but we must truly desire them. In other words, it is not enough simply to wait for God to intervene: we must also commit ourselves personally to building a more just and fraternal world.

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Peter the Apostle (1:16–19)

The central theme of this passage could be summarised as follows: ‘Remain steadfast in the faith and beware of false prophets’, which may be regarded as Peter’s spiritual testament. The Second Letter of Peter resembles a farewell address: as he is about to depart, the one who is leaving recalls the fundamental truths that have inspired him and offers guidance for the future to those who have gathered around his testimony.  The verses presented here serve as an introduction to the entire letter and summarise its main themes: 1) remain steadfast in your faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God; 2) beware of false prophets. All this without losing sight of the horizon of faith: the hope of Christ’s return. Above all: remain steadfast in your faith in Jesus, the Son of God.  At the time of Jesus’ birth, it would never have occurred to anyone that God could have a Son; the one God was solitary. When John the Baptist heard the voice from heaven designating Jesus as the Son, he certainly interpreted it as ‘Messiah’; for, traditionally, the king of Israel received the title ‘Son of God’ on the day of his coronation, with the words ‘You are my Son; today I have begotten you’ (Ps 2:7). For Jewish believers, to call oneself the Son of God was a lie, a claim to authority, or even blasphemy. It was one of the reasons for Jesus’ condemnation (Mark 14:64). Gradually, much later, as they meditated on the mystery of Christ in the light of the Resurrection, the apostles discovered this unexpected truth: Jesus is truly the Son of God; he is God. The event of the Transfiguration now appears in full light: Christ ‘received honour and glory from God the Father; a voice came to him from the majestic glory: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”’  

Now, throughout the Old Testament, glory is the prerogative of God: for example, ‘Give to the Lord the glory due to his name’ (Ps 28/29:2) . Yet, according to Matthew and Mark, the voice from heaven at the Transfiguration said nothing different from what it said at the Baptism; what changes is precisely the glory that envelops Jesus at the Transfiguration: he is alone on the mountain, surrounded only by the two greatest figures of the Old Testament; at the Baptism he was immersed in the crowd, mingled with the people of sinners. It is the same Jesus whom the disciples have come to know little by little—the Son of Man, certainly, but also the Son of God. Moreover, this faith does not betray their previous faith. For the disciples, this renewed faith is not a betrayal of their past faith: none of them thinks they have changed religion by recognising in Jesus the Messiah so long awaited by his people. On the contrary, by re-reading the Scriptures, they discover that Jesus is precisely the one whom they foretold.  

Hence Peter’s words: ‘Thus we have confirmation of the prophetic word’, and his advice to the readers: ‘You would do well to pay close attention to it, as to a lamp shining in a dark place.’ A beautiful image: in the darkness of humanity awaiting its Saviour, the light of the prophets is already shining. From now on, Christians must always remember this Word that foretold Jesus. Another important point: beware of false prophets. If Peter speaks in this way, it is because his fear was not unfounded, and many passages in the New Testament express the same concern. For example, 

we read in the Gospel of Matthew: ‘Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves. ‘You will recognise them by their fruits’ (7:15–16).  The same issue recurs in John’s letters: ‘Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world’ (1 John 4:1).  And Paul also speaks of this: “The Spirit plainly states that in the last days some will fall away from the faith, following deceiving spirits and the teachings of demons” (1 Tim 4:1); “The time will come when people will no longer endure sound teaching, but, having an itch to hear something, they will gather around themselves a multitude of teachers… and turn to myths” (2 Tim 4:3–4).  Faced with these false prophets stand the authentic witnesses, those who have known Jesus of Nazareth and who alone have the right to speak. This concern for the authenticity of witness is a constant theme among the first apostles, and in Peter in particular. Hence the conditions for choosing Judas’s replacement (cf. Acts 1:21–22). Hence, too, Peter’s insistence on his presence at the Transfiguration: “We were eyewitnesses of his majesty… We ourselves heard this voice coming from heaven whilst we were with him on the holy mountain”.  It is because they were witnesses to the coming of the Son of God amongst men that his apostles can now, with full confidence, await his coming at the end of time ‘until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts’ (2 Peter 1:19).

From the Gospel according to Matthew (17:1–9)

Two essential points emerge from this text: the choice of witnesses and the Mount of the Transfiguration: Jesus took Peter, James and his brother John with him: once again we are faced with the mystery of God’s choices. Shortly before, at Caesarea, Jesus had said to Peter: ‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it’ (Mt 16:18). But Peter, entrusted with this crucial mission, is not alone with Jesus: he is accompanied by the two brothers, James and John, the sons of Zebedee. ‘And he led them aside to a high mountain’: on a high mountain, Moses had received the revelation of the God of the Covenant and had been given the tablets of the Law—that law which was to gradually teach the people of the Covenant to live in the love of God and of their brothers and sisters. On that same mountain, Elijah had received the revelation of the God of tenderness in the gentle breeze… Moses and Elijah, the two pillars of the Old Testament. On the high mountain of the Transfiguration, Peter, James and John—the pillars of the Church—receive the revelation of the God of tenderness incarnate in Jesus: ‘This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’ And this revelation is given to strengthen their faith before the storm of the Passion. Peter would later write: ‘We did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty’ (2 Peter 1:16–18).  ‘Let us make three tents’: this remark by Peter suggests that the episode of the Transfiguration took place during the Feast of Tabernacles, or at least within the atmosphere of the feast celebrated in remembrance of the journey through the desert during the Exodus and of the Covenant made with God. During the feast, many psalms celebrated the messianic promises and implored God to hasten his coming. On the Mount of the Transfiguration, the three apostles suddenly find themselves faced with this revelation of the mystery of Jesus: it is hardly surprising that they are seized by the fear that grips every person in the presence of the holy God. Nor is it surprising that Jesus lifts their spirits and reassures them: the Old Testament had already revealed to the people of the Covenant that the Most Holy God is the God who is very close to humankind, and that there is no cause for fear. But this revelation of the mystery of the Messiah, in all its aspects, is not yet within everyone’s grasp; Jesus commands them not to tell anyone for the time being, until the Son of Man has risen from the dead. By uttering these words, Jesus confirms the revelation the three disciples have just received: he is truly the Messiah whom the prophet Daniel saw in the likeness of a man, coming on the clouds of heaven (cf. Dan 7:13–14). It should be remembered that Daniel himself presents the Son of Man not as a solitary individual, but as a people, whom he calls the people of the saints of the Most High. The fulfilment is even more beautiful than the promise: in Jesus, the God-Man, it is the whole of humanity that will receive this eternal kingship and be eternally transfigured. But Jesus was right to say: ‘Tell no one anything before the Resurrection…’ Only after Jesus’ resurrection will the apostles be able to bear witness to it.

Note: The Greek text begins with ‘Six days later’: this is understood to mean ‘six days after Yom Kippur’, the Day of Atonement. It invites us to imagine a connection with the Feast of Tabernacles, hence Peter’s suggestion: ‘Let us make three tents here.’ Furthermore, why are Moses and Elijah present? The very same two who received the revelation of the Father on Mount Sinai now receive the revelation of the Son here. The mosaic in the Basilica of the Transfiguration at St Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai confirms this interpretation: Moses is depicted barefoot, his sandals untied beside him, as he was before the burning bush (cf. Ex 3).

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Jn 12:24-26 (20-26)

«If the grain of wheat fallen to the ground does not die, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit» [Jn 12:24].

We ask ourselves: how is it possible in any situation to sprout precious things? How to become fruitful?

And the pleasure of living? Can we experience at least brief moments of eternity?

In advancing the spiritual journey, we discover that it is not enough to be far from idols: we desire to take successive steps.

We want fullness and joy; do not be suffocated in tasks without enchantment, in mechanisms without lyrical step.

Is Christ really capable of providing our existence with a wing stroke,  exploding life - managing commitments differently, and wincing with happiness?

Or does he definitively dig us the grave, with his Hiding … which seems an option of death?

We would like to deepen, and maybe from simple admirers become Apostles - involved in the lively and growing secret of Jesus.

The best way to «see» the Lord [v.21b - that is, to understand and experience his Life-generating Face] seems to approach a natural process. And the image is taken from the agricultural world.

In order for wheat to sprout in a field, it is necessary that the grains disappear into the earth.

Only from a transmutation can the prodigy of a process of new genesis blossom, and that birth that extends to the ‘hundred for one’.

The stakes are staggering: life does not develop starting from some (artificial) purpose but from the very ‘nature’ of the Seed that has a whole particular vitality inside.

To achieve what characterizes us, success or the ability to become "directors" of oneself has nothing to do with it. Indeed, perhaps it is better to learn to wait, and act slowly, harboring the Sap that ‘comes’.

Nor can we manage with a substitute religious observance, which often [trying to put things right, instantly, outside] is transformed into a reservoir of intimate discomfort and neurosis.

Vocational growth in fullness of person and being, contrasts every opinion far from the Roots of essence and its metamorphoses.

Based on his own experience, Jesus means:

Life partner of the prophet who corresponds to his "absurd" Calling is loneliness, being in the corner, not being sought - and feeling treated as inadequate, dishonourable or failed (precisely by experts and people of rank).

It is not expected that we can take care of this type of frank practice with ourselves, with God and men, taking shortcuts of cotton candy: we must meet our own and others "low floors".

The path of fatuous relationships - facade, often suffered and of overweight - will never correspond to us.

That’s right: we will go straight to the goal only by entering a new normality, and remaining focused on our authentic plot, where the Call of God lurks.

Here bitter situations will prove to be transitory.

And if in the meantime we have not let go because of some lack of recognition or belonging, history will find us somewhere else.

But let us continually beware of unevangelical spiritual proposals - precisely, lacking in re-Births.

The wise dimension of the «dying Grain» is not about voluntarism and self-control, which will disconcert us within, diminishing the sacred Oneness of soul and Vocation.

Manners discipline that takes as its 'model' the already established [and “how we should be”] will only baffle us; it will make us sick!

Excessive control, in fact, in every concrete circumstance will diminish our special inclination of varied being, will bleed the personal Mystery, and the growing flowering of new Life.

Instead, the Lord wants us to be ready to re-create ourselves and regenerate the world - even in times of global crisis.

[St Lawrence,  August 10]

(Jn 12:20-33)

"If the grain of wheat that falls to the ground does not die, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" [Jn 12:24].

We ask ourselves: how is it possible in any situation to make precious things sprout? What is the best way to take care of oneself? How can one become fruitful without shrinking one's living space?

What draws its own sap even from traumas, discomforts, failures, or what does not leave us calm? What about the pleasure of living? Can we experience at least brief moments of eternity?

Is Christ really able to give our existence a shot in the arm, make life explode - manage commitments differently, and revel in happiness?

Or does he definitively dig our grave, with his Hiding (which seems to be a death option)?

We are already widely introduced, but perhaps we do not feel aware enough: we would like to go deeper, and perhaps from being mere admirers become Apostles - involved in Jesus' spirited and growing secret.

In advancing on the spiritual journey, we discover that it is not enough to be far from idols and celebrate faith: we desire to take further steps (vv.20-22), to experience immense gifts.

We want fullness, expansion, joy; not to be suffocated in tasks without enchantment, in mechanisms without lyrical step.

And enter into the Faith that is already non-compulsive love - thus accessing integral salvation.

We desire to be in wholeness - and that of the grain of wheat that rots by becoming the vessel of perfect wholeness is not an invitation to accumulate labours, nor to (intimist or cathartic) dolorismo, but to total luxuriance.

In short, there is a crisis between attachment to the established and approved self, and discipleship without those anxieties within. Discipleship that leads to fulfilled joy: seeing oneself develop, expand, flourish - manifesting one's entire life-wave in a new form.

Jn presents the first contact of the already believers with foreigners by bringing in 'Greeks' who had arrived in Jerusalem to go up to the Temple for the great feast of Passover.

Perhaps they wished to "see Jesus" as the star of the moment - but in Him they encounter a gift proposal at the antipodes of the Hellenist conception. The contrast in the background of the episode is sharp.

In Greece, the term 'aristoi' was coined to indicate successful people, who stood out from the rest: the best. They were the outstanding, those who achieved prestige, fame, visibility, substantial honours.

The Master removes the veil of [even then ecclesiastical] insipient illusions. He considers this ideal of life insipid.

And he explains what Glory consists of: 'falling to the ground' - so that it is the latter and its hidden energies that regenerate our and others' destinies.

In short, in every person there are dormant forces waiting - even if one does not want to admit them.

They demand their own way; not models. As such, they are only released when we do not rush to fix things as they 'should be'.

We sometimes feel the unconscious wanting an evolution; but the unexpressed faces do not emerge... the primordial virtues remain stifled.

Perhaps even in the time of global crisis we pretend to continue like this, to float on procedures, disinterested in Life as source - undisguised, in the round and without sequins.

Those who still think conformistically remain in the enclosure... which has become the grave of the soul.

He retreats into fatuous glory, remains at a safe distance from other possibilities, and loses the self that gives rise to the future.

In fact, the Tao Tê Ching (xxviii) says: "He who knows himself to be glorious and keeps himself in ignominy, is the valley of the world; being the valley of the world, virtue always stops in him, and he returns to being crude. When that which is crude is cut off, then they make instruments of it; when the holy man uses it, then he makes himself the first among ministers".

The best way to "see" the Lord [v.21b - that is, to understand and experience his life-giving Face] seems to be to approach a natural process.

And the evangelical image is taken from the agricultural world.

For ears of grain to sprout in a field, it is necessary for the grains to disappear into the earth, slipping into oblivion.

Only from a transmutation (without resistance) can the prodigy blossom: a process of new genesis and development, and that birth that brings the hundredfold [genesis well expanded, e.g. by comparison with the petty hopes of a social role].

The stakes are staggering: it seems paradoxical, but life does not develop from some contrived purpose, but from the very nature of the seed, which has a special vitality within.

To realise what characterises us, success or the ability to make oneself 'director' has nothing to do with it.On the contrary, perhaps it is better to learn to wait, and to act slowly, accommodating the sap that comes - rather than hastily becoming people 'with' considerable social standing.

Nor can we get away with setting up a substitute religious observance that does not correspond to us and that we do not want, which often [trying to put things right, instantly, on the outside] turns into a reservoir of inner discomfort and neurosis.

Activated by the paradoxical Mystery, which calls by Name, step by step and wisely, we are invited to respect real processes and overall developments.

Missional growth in fullness of personality and being is all natural - and only in this way does it counteract oppositions, or rather seize them as opportunities that ignite the path, and appropriately divert it.

Our development is global growth.

It counteracts every false inner voice or outer power: heterodirected inclinations - aimed at appearance. [Rushing to be recognised at first sight... all cheap opinions; far from the roots of essence and metamorphosis].

Based on his own experience, Jesus means:

Life companion of the Prophet who corresponds to his own 'absurd' Calling is not the d'emblée (static, of self) affirmation that gives no room for the unexpressed dream.

Rather, it is the loneliness, the standing in the corner, the not being sought after - and feeling treated as inadequate, dishonourable or failed (by the very experts and people of rank).

This kind of frank practice with oneself, God and men is not to be done by taking candyfloss shortcuts: one has to meet our own and others' 'downsides'.

The path of fatuous relationships - of façade, often suffered and overweight - will never match us.

That's right: we will only go straight to the goal by entering into a new normal: to turn over a new leaf, remaining focused on our authentic character pattern, where God's unpredictable call to freedom instinct lurks.

Bitter situations will prove transient.

And if in the meantime we have not let go because of some lack of recognition or belonging, history will find us somewhere else.

But let us continually beware of spiritual proposals that are not very evangelical - indeed, lacking in re-birth.

The wise dimension of the 'Dying Grain' is not about voluntarism and self-control, which will baffle us inside, diminishing the sacred Oneness of soul and Vocation.

Discipline of manner that takes as its 'model' the already established [and "how we should be"] will only pass on lacerations; it will make us sick!

Excessive control in fact, in every concrete circumstance will dampen our exceptional inclination to be varied, will bleed the personal Mystery, and the growing flowering of New Life.

Instead, the Lord wants us ready to recreate ourselves and regenerate the world - even in times of global crisis.

In short, 'adequate' expectations are double-edged weapons, absurd alibis; clouded ideals - produced by artifice. Without any Mystery breathing within.

Those who hand over their reputations seem to rot, yet (like Jesus) will find immensity of harvest.

The Sign of the Bread helps us to be under no illusions: the disciples' ministry is not to shut itself away, not even to narrate external admiration and remain in the den - but to make it 'seen'.

Even in times of overall upheaval.

To internalise and live the message:

In what do you recognise the trammels of life, or to what do you accord the highest honour?

The Gospel, from the 12th chapter of John which I would like to try to explain, is also a Gospel of hope. At the same time, it is a Gospel of the Cross. These two dimensions always go together. Since the Gospel refers to the Cross it speaks of hope and, since it gives hope, it must speak of the Cross.

John tells us that Jesus was going up to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover and then he says: "Among those who went up to worship... were some Greeks". Without any doubt they were members of the group called phoboumenoi ton Theon, the "God-fearing", who, going beyond the polytheism of their world, were seeking the authentic God who is truly God, the one God to whom the whole world belongs and who is the God of all mankind. And they had found that God, whom they were seeking and asking for, and for whom every human being is silently yearning, in the Bible of Israel, recognizing him as that God who created the world. He is the God of all men and women and, at the same time, he chose a specific people and place in which to be present among us. They were searching for God and they came to Jerusalem to worship the one God, to know something of his mystery. Furthermore, the Evangelist tells us that these people, having heard talk of Jesus, approached Philip the Apostle who came from Bethsaida, in half of which Greek is spoken and said:  "We wish to see Jesus". Their desire to know God impels them to want to see Jesus and through him to become more closely acquainted with God. "We wish to see Jesus":  we are moved by these words since we all long ever more ardently to see and to know him. I think there are two reasons why these Greeks interest us:  on the one hand their situation is the same as ours; we too are pilgrims asking about God, in search of God. And we too would like to know Jesus better and truly to see him. Yet it is also true that, like Philip and Andrew, we should be Jesus' friends, friends who know him and can show others the way that leads to him. I therefore think that at this time we should pray like this:  Lord, help us to be people journeying towards you. Lord, grant that we may see you ever more clearly. Help us to be your friends, who open to others the door to you. Whether or not this effectively led to an encounter between Jesus and those Greeks, St John does not tell us. Jesus' answer, which he does report to us, goes far beyond that chance moment. It is a twofold response. He speaks of the glorification of Jesus that was then beginning:  "The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified" (Jn 12: 23). The Lord explains this concept of glorification with the Parable of the Grain of Wheat:  "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (v. 24). Indeed the grain of wheat must die, it must sink in the ground in order to absorb energy from the earth and thus develop a stem and become an ear of wheat. With regard to the Lord, this is the parable of his own mystery. He himself is the grain of wheat which came from God, the divine grain that lets itself fall to the ground, that lets itself sink, be broken down in death and precisely by so doing germinates and can thus bear fruit in the immensity of the world. It is not merely a fleeting encounter with some person or another. Now, as the Risen One, he is "new" and goes beyond the limits of space and time. Now, he truly reaches the Greeks. Now, he shows himself to them and speaks to them and they speak to him; so it is that faith is born. The Church grows from all peoples, the community of the Risen Jesus Christ which will become his living Body, the ear of the grain of wheat. In this parable we also find a reference to the mystery of the Eucharist. He, who is the grain of wheat, falls to the ground and dies.

In this manner the holy multiplication of the "loaves" [bread] of the Eucharist comes about, in which he becomes Bread for the people of all times and places.

What the Lord says of himself here in this Christological parable is applied to us in two other verses:  "He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life" (v. 25). I think that when we first hear this we do not like it. We would like to say to the Lord:  "But what are you telling us, Lord? Must we even hate our life? Isn't our life a gift of God? Haven't we been created in his image and likeness? Shouldn't we be grateful and glad that he has given us life?". However, Jesus' words have another meaning. Of course the Lord has given us life and we are grateful for this. Gratitude and joy are fundamental attitudes of Christian life. Yes, we can be happy because we know that each of our lives comes from God. It is not a chance without meaning. I am wanted and loved. When Jesus says we must hate our life he means quite the opposite. He is thinking here of two fundamental attitudes. One is the attitude of wanting to keep my life selfishly, which is why I consider my life as my own property; I consider myself as my own property, which is why I want to make the very most of this life so as to live a full life, living for myself. Whoever does this, whoever lives for himself and thinks of and desires only himself, does not find himself but is lost. What the Lord tells us is precisely the opposite:  not seizing life but giving it. And it is not that in seizing life for ourselves that we receive it, but in giving it, in going beyond ourselves not in looking at ourselves but rather in giving ourselves to the other in the humility of love, giving our life to him and to others. Thus we become rich, distancing ourselves from ourselves, freeing ourselves from ourselves. It is by giving, and not by seizing life that we truly receive life.

[Pope Benedict, visit to the Lutheran Church in Rome 14 March 2010]

1. These words were spoken by the Lord Jesus as he thought of his own death. He himself first of all is that “grain of wheat” which “falls on the ground and dies”. The Son of God, of the same substance as the Father, God from God and Light from Light, was made man. He entered into the life of ordinary men and women as the son of the Virgin Mary of Nazareth. And finally he accepted death on the Cross as the sacrifice for the sins of the world. Precisely in this way the grain of wheat dies and yields a rich harvest. It is the harvest of the Redemption of the world, the harvest of the salvation of souls, the power of truth and love as the beginning of eternal life in God.

In this way the parable of the grain of wheat helps us to understand the very mystery of Christ.

2. At the same time, the grain of wheat that “falls on the ground and dies” becomes the pledge of bread. A man harvests from his fields the heads of grain which have grown from the single grain and, transforming the collected grains into flour, he makes bread from it as food for his own body. In this way Christ’s parable about the grain of wheat helps us to understand the mystery of the Eucharist.

In fact, at the Last Supper, Christ took bread in his own hands, blessed it and said these words over it: “Take this, all of you, and eat it: this is my body which will be given up for you”. And the broken Bread which had become in a sacramental way his own Body he distributed to the Apostles.

In a similar way he brought about the transubstantiation of the wine into his own Blood, and distributing it to the Apostles, said: “Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all men so that sins may be forgiven”. And then he added: “Do this in memory of me”.

3. This is how the mystery of Christ remains among us through the Sacrament of the Eucharist. The mystery of the Redeemer of the world who gave himself up for us all, offering his Body and Blood in the Sacrifice of the Cross. Thanks to the Eucharist the words of our Redeemer are fulfilled: “I will not leave you orphans; I will come back to you” (Io. 14, 18).

In this Sacrament he is always coming to us. We are not orphans. He is with us!

In the Eucharist he also brings us his peace, and he helps us to overcome our weaknesses and fears. It is just as he had foretold: “Peace I bequeath to you, my own peace I give you, a peace the world cannot give, this is my gift to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid” (Io. 14, 27).

And hence, from the beginning, the disciples and witnesses of our Crucified and Risen Lord “remained faithful to the teaching of the apostles, to the brotherhood, to the breaking of bread and to the prayers” (Act. 2, 42).

They remained faithful “to the breaking of bread”. In other words, the Eucharist constituted the very centre of their life, the centre of the life of the Christian community, the centre of the life of the Church.

Thus it was at the beginning in Jerusalem. Thus it has been everywhere, wherever faith in the Gospel together with the teaching of the Apostles has been introduced. From generation to generation it has been so among different peoples and nations. Thus it has also been on the African continent since the Gospel first reached these lands through the missionaries, and since it produced its first fruits in a community assembled to celebrate the Eucharist […]

8. To feed and clothe and care for each child requires much sacrifice and hard work. In addition, parents have the duty of educating their children. As the Second Vatican Council says: “Their role as educators is so decisive that scarcely anything can compensate for their failure in it. For it devolves on parents to create a family atmosphere so animated with love and reverence for God and others that a well-rounded personal and social development will be fostered among the children. Hence, the family is the first school of those social virtues which every society needs” (Gravissimum Educationis, 3).

9. Prayer is essential to the life of every Christian, but family prayer has its own special character. Since it is a form of shared prayer, it has to be shaped and adapted according to the size and make-up of each family. Few activities influence a family more deeply than their prayer together. Prayer fosters reverence for God and respect for one another. It places joys and sorrows, hopes and disappointments, every event and circumstance, within the perspective of God’s mercy and providence. Family prayer opens the heart of each member to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and helps the family to be more united in itself, yet more ready to serve the Church and society.

[Pope John Paul II, from homily in Nairobi, 18 August 1985]

Today's Gospel [...] narrates an episode which took place in the last days of Jesus’ life. The scene takes place in Jerusalem where he finds himself for the feast of the Jewish Passover. Several Greeks had also arrived there for this celebration. These men were driven by religious sentiment, attracted by the faith of the Jewish People and, having heard of this great prophet, they approach Philip, one of the 12 Apostles, and say to him: “we wish to see Jesus” (v. 21). John highlights this sentence, that is centred on the verb to see, which in the evangelical lexicon means to go beyond appearances in order to comprehend the mystery of a person. The verb John uses, “to see”, means to reach the depths of the heart, to reach through sight, with understanding, the depths of a person’s soul, within the person.

Jesus’ reaction is surprising. He does not answer with a “yes” or with a “no” but says: “The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified” (v. 23). These words which at first glance appear to ignore the question of those Greeks, in reality provide the true response because those who seek to know Jesus must look within the Cross where his glory is revealed; to look within the Cross. Today’s Gospel invites us to turn our gaze to the Crucifix which is not an ornamental object or a clothing accessory — abused at times! Rather, it is a religious symbol to contemplate and to understand. Within the image of Jesus crucified is revealed the mystery of the death of the Son as a supreme act of love, the source of life and salvation for humanity of all ages. We have been healed in his wounds.

I may think: “How do I look at the Crucifix? As a work of art, to see if it is beautiful or not? Or do I look within; do I penetrate Jesus’ wounds unto the depths of his heart? Do I look at the mystery of God who was humiliated unto death, like a slave, like a criminal?”. Do not forget this: look to the Crucifix, but look within it. There is a beautiful devotional way of praying one “Our Father” for each of the five wounds. When we pray that “Our Father”, we are trying to enter within, through the wounds of Jesus, inside his very heart. And there we will learn the great wisdom of the mystery of Christ, the great wisdom of the Cross.

And in order to explain the meaning of his death and Resurrection, Jesus uses an image and says: “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (v. 24). He wants to explain that his extreme fate — that is the Cross, death and Resurrection — is an act of fruitfulness — his wounds have healed us — a fruitfulness which will bear fruit for many. He thus compares himself to a grain of wheat which, rotting in the earth, generates new life. Jesus came to earth through the Incarnation, but this is not enough. He must also die to redeem man from the slavery of sin and to offer him a new life reconciled in love. I said “to redeem man”: but to redeem me, you, all of us, each of us. He paid that price. This is the mystery of Christ. Go towards his wounds, enter, contemplate, see Jesus — but from within.

And this dynamism of the grain of wheat which was accomplished in Jesus must also take place within us, his disciples. We are called to take on the Paschal law of losing life in order to receive it renewed and eternal. And what does losing life mean? That is, what does it mean to be the grain of wheat? It means to think less about oneself, about personal interests and to know how to “see” and to meet the needs of our neighbours, especially the least of them. To joyfully carry out works of charity towards those who suffer in body and spirit is the most authentic way of living the Gospel. It is the necessary foundation upon which our communities can grow in reciprocal fraternity and welcome. I want to see Jesus, but from within. Penetrate his wounds and contemplate that love in his heart for you, for you, for you, for me, for everyone.

May the Virgin Mary who, from the manger in Bethlehem to the Cross on Calvary, has always kept her heart’s gaze fixed on her Son, help us to meet and know him just as he desires so that we may live enlightened by Him and bring to the world fruits of justice and peace.

[Pope Francis, Angelus 18 March 2018]

The difficult condition of the disciple in the Church and the world

(Mt 14:22-33)

Having reached the ultimate condition (v.23) Jesus does not allow the Apostles to keep the treasures of God for themselves.

He compels his own to the mission to the Gentiles (v.22). But the 'headwinds' were many.

About half a century after the Lord's death, the communities of Galilee and Syria faced a difficult crossing.

The securities of the ancient religion and the sense of rootedness in the customs of the “chosen” people were breaking down. Even small privileges of position were crumbling.

With the increasing entry of pagans into communities, third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how they could break out of their old cultural isolation and open up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to the persecutions, internal conflicts intensified: for example, over the position to be taken in relation to the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates about the figure and history of the Master himself - as well as on the attitude to take towards the tradition of the 'fathers' [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Even though the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness, and rancour between Judaizers and those from paganism, as well as impetuous dangers, the Glad Tidings of unconditional Salvation could not be kept in an inner circle.

The quotation of the divine Name «I Am» (v.27) refers here to the Exodus story (3:14).

It is a reminder to the disciples. They still seemed to be in the grip of immediate fears about the real power of Life and Deliverance of Christ - so much so that they did not recognize Him (v.26).

Without ceasing, the Risen One still makes himself Present, so that we can open up and move forward; without the burden of opposition or nostalgia. There is a whole new reality waiting.

We are inhabited by the power of God (vv.28-31).

Authentic communities - «flap of his cloak» (v.36) that is of his Person - will still experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelization and the new way of living and helping others gratuitously, any storms that may be gathering on the horizon will clear up.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the burgeoning diversity of the 'other shore'; of one's neighbour, of oneself, of the life to come, and of God.

But the virtue that dominates the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended, that is, as an external, immediate, decisive, and final power - but rather as mysterious and inner, animated in time, and of profound relationship.

The “victory” will be the result of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah gives.

Potency far greater than what we already know about ourselves - despite the fact that we often (like Simone) pretend to an easier, quicker, immediately decisive shortcut.

Emotionally relevant situations have their own meaning, they carry a significant appeal; they introduce a different introspection, the decisive change - a new 'genesis'.

Trial in fact activates souls in the most effective way, because it disengages us from the idea of stability, and brings us into contact with dormant energies, initiating the new dialogue with events.

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

[19th Sunday in O.T. (year A), August 9, 2026]

Disciple’s difficult plight in the Church and in the world

Mt 14:22–33 (22–36)

Some other providential care, of which you are unaware

‘It is better not to fall, or to fall and get back up again. And if one does happen to fall, it is better not to despair and not to turn away from the love that the Sovereign has for mankind. For if He so wishes, He can indeed show mercy towards our weakness. Let us simply not turn away from Him, let us not feel distressed if we are constrained by the commandments, and let us not lose heart if we achieve nothing […].

We must neither be in a hurry nor give up, but always start afresh […].

Wait for him, and he will show you mercy, whether through conversion, through trials, or through some other act of providence of which you are unaware.’

(Peter of Damascus, Book Two, Eighth Discourse, in *The Philokalia*, Turin 1982, I,94)

Once the final state had been reached (v. 23), Jesus did not allow the Apostles to keep God’s treasures to themselves.

He compelled his followers to undertake the mission to the Gentiles (v. 22). However, there were many ‘headwinds’.

Some half a century after the Lord’s death, the communities of Galilee and Syria found themselves facing a difficult journey.

The certainties of the ancient religion and the sense of being rooted in the customs of the ‘chosen’ people were beginning to crumble. Even the minor privileges of status were crumbling.

With the increasingly marked influx of pagans into the communities, the third-generation believers were forced to ask themselves how to break out of their former cultural isolation and open themselves up to a new way of seeing things.

In addition to persecution, internal conflicts were intensifying: for example, regarding the stance to adopt towards the Empire itself.

There was no shortage of heated debates concerning the very person and history of the Master – as well as the attitude to adopt towards the tradition of the fathers [which to some seemed a call to turn back].

Although the situation was fraught with friction, bitterness and resentment between those of Jewish background and those from pagan origins, as well as with pressing dangers, the Good News of unconditional salvation could not be confined to a narrow circle.

The invocation of the divine Name ‘I Am’ here refers to the account in Exodus 3:14. It is a call to the disciples, who were still in the grip of immediate fears regarding Christ’s true power of life and liberation – so much so that they did not recognise him (v. 26).

Ceaselessly, the Risen One makes himself present once more, so that we may open ourselves up and move forward; free from the burden of divisions or nostalgia.

A whole new reality awaits.

We are filled with God’s vigour (vv. 28–31), and even today, for our rebirth from the global crisis, we are called to a response of love that is personal, cultural, radical and unprecedented: one that involves introspection, but not as intimidated subjects; one that is bold, but not as those who rush to the surface.

Authentic communities – ‘the hem of his garment’ (v. 36), that is, of his Person – will once again experience the power of the Spirit.

Through evangelisation and a new way of living and helping others selflessly, any storm that may be gathering on the horizon will dissipate.

It will be replaced by an ever deeper and more acute experience of the flourishing diversity on the other shore; of one’s neighbour, of oneself, of life itself as it unfolds, and of God.

But the virtue that masters the elements cannot be experienced as Peter intended—that is, as an external, immediate, decisive and final power—but rather as something mysterious and inner, brought to life over time and rooted in deep relationship.

The ‘victory’ will be the fruit of Faith alone: trust in the strength that the silent Messiah bestows.

A power far greater than that which we already know of ourselves – even though we often (like Simon) demand an easier, swifter, instantly decisive shortcut.

(Mt 8:23–27)

    The direction Jesus imposes on his followers seems to go against the grain, and brazenly breaks the rules accepted by all.

Whilst the disciples harboured nationalistic desires, the Master begins to make it clear that he is not the Messiah commonly expected, a restorer of the defunct empire of David or of the Caesars.

The Kingdom of God is open to all humanity, which in those turbulent times was seeking security, welcome and points of reference. Everyone could find a home and shelter there (Mt 13:32c; Mk 4:32b).

But the apostles and the church elders seemed averse to Christ’s proposals; they remained unmoved by such a broad concept of brotherhood – one that threw them off balance. This is a problem that remains very much alive and extremely serious.

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

The Apostles have the task of communicating the Father’s riches to the pagans, who were regarded as impure and disreputable.

Yet it was precisely those closest to the Master who wanted nothing to do with risky excesses that would effectively highlight the far-reaching action of the Son of God.

They were content to adhere to the customs of conventional religiosity and an ideology of limited power.

Resistance to the divine commission, as well as the agonising internal debate that had ensued, had already, in the 70s, unleashed a great storm within the assemblies of believers.

‘And behold, a great storm arose on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves’ (Mt 8:24).

The storm affected only the disciples, who were the only ones filled with dread; not Jesus: ‘but he was asleep’ (v. 24c) [this is the Risen One].

What was happening ‘inside’ the little boat of the Church was not merely a reflection of what was happening ‘outside’! This is the error that must be corrected.

For us too, such identification can stifle and make life stagnant, starting precisely with how we handle emotionally significant situations – which have their own meaning.

They always carry a significant appeal, introducing a different perspective, introspection and dialogue.

In short, from the peace of the divine state that reigns over chaos, the Lord draws attention to the situation and rebukes the apostles, accusing them of lacking faith.

Although devout, they lack even a shred of risk-taking. They lack love – like a mustard seed (v. 26) – to bring to humanity in order to renew it.

And are we believers still confused, at a loss? Does the chaos of preconceived notions still rage – not excluding selfishness, which inexorably rears its head?

Paradoxically, we are walking the path of the Exodus, of the experience of the first believers; true ‘knowledge’, because it is direct. One warning: we must not let fear get the better of us.

In Him, we are imbued with a different perspective on danger.

The Tao Te Ching (xxii) says: ‘The sage does not see for himself; therefore he is enlightened.’ Even in the narrowest of passages.

In fact, at all times it seems that Jesus expressly desires for the apostles those dark moments of confrontation and doubt (Mk 4:35; Lk 8:22b). First and foremost, it will be certain church leaders who are called to rid themselves of repetitive convictions. Only in this way will their Proclamation remain unhindered.

Indeed, textbook expectations (and the habit of creating conformist harmonies) stifle the blossoming of who we are and what we hope for.

Above all, that which is troublesome or even ‘against’ the grain has something crucial to tell us.

Even in the little boat of the congregations [cf. Mk 4:36], unease must find expression.

‘And they went up to him and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!”’ (v. 25).

Peril is an opportunity to revive the essence of each individual and of the community itself.

Trial brings about change (hidden or repressed) and sets it in motion in the most effective way.

Novelty arises from natural contact with latent, primordial energies.

More than from conflicting forces or external events, anxiety, unease and anguish arise, in fact, from the very fear of facing the normal or decisive questions of existence.

This may stem from a lack of confidence: sensing danger perhaps only because we perceive ourselves, deep down, as not yet fully mature, and incapable of any other form of dialogue; of discovering and re-evaluating, converting, or reshaping ourselves.

The struggle to question oneself and the suffering that the adventure of Faith holds in store will fade even amidst the turbulence of the rough sea – which, precisely, does not want us to return to being ‘who we were before’ .

We simply need to let go of the idea of stability – even religious stability – and listen to life as it is, embracing it.

Even amidst its multitude of setbacks, bitterness, shattered hopes of harmony and sorrows – engaging with this torrent of new challenges, and encountering our own deepest nature.

The best antidote to the anxieties of our journey with Christ across the shifting waves of the unexpected is precisely not to avoid worries in advance – but rather to face them head-on and welcome them; to recognise ourselves in them, and let them run their course.

Even in times of global crisis, the anxieties that seem intent on devastating us come to us as energies preparing the way for other joys that long to burst forth. New cosmic harmonies; for wonder beginning with ourselves – and guidance from beyond.

Our little boat is in a state of inverted stability, turned upside down, impossible to balance; uncertain, unsuitable – yet energetic, sharp, capable of reinventing itself.

And it may even be excessive, but let the upheavals come.

For a proposal of Tenderness (which does not correspond) that is no relaxation zone, because it rhymes with terrible anxiety and… still neglected outskirts!

To internalise and live out the message:

On what occasions have you found easy what previously seemed impossible?

A splendid testimony:

    ‘Once, like the first disciples, we encountered the Lord and heard his word: “Follow me!” Perhaps at first we followed him somewhat hesitantly, looking back and wondering if this was truly our path. And at some point along the way, we may have had the same experience as Peter after the miraculous catch; that is, we were daunted by His greatness, by the magnitude of the task and by the inadequacy of our own humble selves, so much so that we wanted to turn back: ‘Lord, depart from me, for I am a sinner!’ (Lk 5:8) But then He, with great kindness, took us by the hand, drew us to Himself and said: “Do not be afraid! I am with you. I will not leave you; do not leave me!” And more than once, perhaps, the same thing has happened to each of us as it did to Peter when, walking on the water towards the Lord, he suddenly realised that the water was not supporting him and that he was about to sink. And like Peter, we cried out: “Lord, save me!” (Mt 14:30). Faced with the full fury of the elements, how could we possibly cross the roaring, foaming waters of the last century and the last millennium? But then we looked to Him … and He took us by the hand and gave us a new ‘specific gravity’: the lightness that comes from faith and draws us upwards. And then He offers us His hand to support and carry us. He sustains us. Let us fix our gaze on Him again and again and stretch out our hands towards Him. Let us allow His hand to take hold of us, and then we shall not sink, but we shall serve the life that is stronger than death, and the love that is stronger than hatred. Faith in Jesus, the Son of the living God, is the means by which we grasp Jesus’ hand time and again, and through which He takes our hands and guides us. One of my favourite prayers is the petition that the liturgy places on our lips before Communion: ‘…may I never be separated from you’. We ask never to fall out of communion with his Body, with Christ himself, never to fall out of the Eucharistic mystery. We ask that He may never let go of our hand…’.

[Pope Benedict, Chrism Mass homily, 13 April 2006]

Bread and miracles of the ‘phantom’ Christ. And we, the hem of his cloak

(Mk 6:53–56 // Mt 14:34–36)

He who is devoted to the cause of non-violence and non-possession, who is driven by the search for truth and right vision, who is capable of resolving his own emotional and intellectual problems and can show others the way to overcome their emotional and intellectual problems, may wear the Master’s cloak [Acharya Mahaprajna].

Whilst crowds constantly throng around Jesus and prevent others from having a personal relationship with Him, we must find a way; at the very least, catch a glimpse of Him (v. 56).

‘And wherever He entered—whether villages, towns or hamlets—they would lay the sick out in the marketplaces and beg Him to let them touch even the fringe of His cloak. And all who touched Him were healed.’

In fact, the fringe of his cloak is his People – and each one of us, when by Grace we are enabled to perceive and extend his call, his spirit, his care, his action.

A ‘touch’ that is not merely a gesture: it calls for total involvement; personal faith, an inner search.

The crowds gathered around the Lord and the Church, his primary presence, seek bread and healing… but sometimes they forget to connect with the inner Person who gives and heals.

Yet even in these cases, the infallible Guide continues to offer his unbroken life-giving current – not through therapies that impose themselves upon souls like a bolt of lightning, but within real life.

God liberates, saves and creates, starting from tensions and shortcomings (including religious ones), because He wishes to lead us to awareness.

The Father desires to instil the value of the act of love that strengthens the weak; every re-creative, incarnate gesture, open to any sense of emptiness.

Troubles do not arise from misfortune or punishment: they come to allow us to blossom anew, precisely from the pains of the soul.

If they persist, there is no need to fear: they become more explicit messages from our own higher Self.

It means that something in our inner orchestra is out of tune or neglected, and must either fade away or be uncovered and brought into play.

Otherwise, we will not be able to grow towards the destiny that characterises a Calling and every hardship.

Even the symptoms of restlessness belong to our innate essence – which always holds the power of relevance.

The key, therefore, will not be our appearance, nor our health, but rather the very acceptance of bitterness and hardship, which come to clear away the non-essential – and to liberate trapped spiritual impulses.

These are energies of imbalance, yet they seek to be transformed into the ability to cast off ballast; as well as to better embrace and integrate one’s calling into one’s own story, so as to build life anew.

Perhaps quite a few would prefer to await a miraculous arrival of the Master [the archetypal healer] who brings immediate benefit and instant favours.

An external salvation with a magical flavour – fleeting, even if physically palpable or even taking on an ethical guise.

A phenomenal, yet simplistic, Lord.

An Appearance that dies straight away, only for us to start all over again – were it not for the fact that He (within us, in our turning points) embraces the very uncertainties that mark us.

And the long duration of these processes, which gradually take on a more intimate significance.

Total and sacred redemption – truly messianic – is not given to superficial fanfare.

Healing is not a spectacle. It is achieved solely step by step; thus it remains profound and radical.

It becomes capable of new beginnings and acts of giving birth to energy that is still embryonic, precisely starting from individual precariousness.

His People of the inner circle – a presence no longer ineffable and mysterious – work in close proximity to erase the false image of the philosophical or legal God, who is always external. 

A sovereign or imperious driving force, distant and absent – touchy, predatory – who occasionally makes an appearance; he neither transcends nor reaffirms. He never looks upon our present.

Thus the Church rejects the idea of the Eternal One who ratifies, but also that of the mass miracle-worker, who provides immediate solutions – so dear to the merchants of miracles.

A figure who easily takes hold of our imaginations.

We proclaim his true Face through words and deeds, precisely to destroy the idea of the phantom Christ from the previous passage (v. 49), a deplorable and absurd figure.

An evanescent icon, purely apologetic, which, unfortunately, throughout history has given ample scope to those in business with the Most High.

In this way, being healed does not mean escaping transience.

For a life as the saved, a transformation from within is needed; a new beginning. A different foothold in goodness.

Jesus walks through our world like a silent wayfarer, and even accepts a rudimentary faith.

Yet, even with unassuming power, the divine impulse works within every seeker of meaning and every person in need.

It takes up residence there personally, beginning precisely with our interrupted dreams.

The Lord cannot be imprisoned or confined: he draws near to carry out a great cleansing, to shift our gaze, and to renew the stale universe.

Thus He transforms our soul, through the experience of His free-giving communion,

a fellowship that seeks to take up residence within us, to merge with and expand the drive for life – perhaps lying dormant in our inaction. So that each of us may be amazed by ourselves, by unknown passions, and by new relationships.

Believers and the community manifest, in empathetic ways, the incisive healing power of Faith in the Risen One, beginning with their own intimate lives.

We experience him as alive in the monotonous, unfulfilling and precarious day-to-day – yet capable of changing the fabric of existence hidden in humble neighbourhoods [v.56: ‘hamlets’] and its unspoken destiny.

Without disturbing us with special, one-sided or overbearing effects.

The Tao Te Ching (xi) states: ‘Thirty spokes meet at a single hub, and in its non-being lies the usefulness of the cart’.

Far removed from the civilisation of appearances lies the improvement of our condition and security, away from insecurity.

Not merely a superficial, indiscreet and fleeting recovery.

Phenomenal, yet merely fleeting and inconclusive, or one that ultimately fades away.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you view Jesus? As a miracle-worker or a restorer?

How do you behave towards those who are excluded or seem to have no shepherd?

Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni” – with these and similar words, the Church’s liturgy prays repeatedly […]

These invocations were probably formulated during the twilight years of the Roman Empire. The collapse of the fundamental legal systems and the underlying moral attitudes that gave them strength led to the breaking of the defences that had hitherto protected peaceful coexistence amongst people. A world was coming to an end. Frequent natural disasters further heightened this sense of insecurity. There was no force in sight that could halt this decline. All the more insistent, then, was the invocation of God’s own power: that He might come and protect humankind from all these threats.

“Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni”. Even today we have many reasons to join in this prayer […] The world, with all its new hopes and possibilities, is at the same time troubled by the impression that the moral consensus is dissolving—a consensus without which legal and political structures cannot function; consequently, the forces mobilised to defend these structures seem destined to fail.

Excita – the prayer recalls the cry addressed to the Lord, who was sleeping in the disciples’ boat as it was tossed about by the storm and on the verge of sinking. When his powerful word had calmed the storm, he rebuked the disciples for their lack of faith (cf. Mt 8:26 and parallels). He meant to say: faith has been sleeping within you. He wishes to say the same thing to us too. In us, too, faith so often sleeps. Let us therefore pray to Him to rouse us from the slumber of a faith that has grown weary, and to restore to faith the power to move mountains – that is, to put the affairs of the world in their proper order.

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