13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [28 June 2026]

First Reading from the Second Book of Kings (4:8–11, 14–16a)

Here is a brief overview of this Sunday’s biblical readings, beginning with this story of a beautiful human friendship. In Shunem, a village in the Northern Kingdom around 850 BC, Elisha, at the start of his ministry, forms a strong and lasting friendship with a wealthy family. The biblical authors do not recount this story merely as an anecdote: they have a theological purpose and show that the covenant between Elisha and the Shunammites is a reflection of the Covenant between God and Israel. This story unfolds in four acts: 1. The promise of a son: Elisha announces to the barren woman: ‘Next year, at this very time, you will be holding a son in your arms.’ She does not believe him and replies: ‘No, my lord, man of God, do not lie to your servant.’ Like Sarah at Mamre, she doubts. But the following year the child is born. 2. The resurrection: Years later, the child dies in the fields, struck down by heatstroke. Without losing faith, the mother lays the body on Elisha’s bed, in the room on the terrace, and runs to find him. She reminds him: ‘I had not asked you for anything; do not take this son from me.’ Elisha prays and raises the child from the dead. 3. The warning of famine: True to this friendship, Elisha warns the Shunammite woman of seven years of famine and advises her to leave for the land of the Philistines. She obeys and goes into exile. 4. The restoration of her property. On her return, her house and fields had been confiscated by the king’s officials. Elisha intervenes once more and restores her lands to her. But what theological lesson does this text offer us? This friendship illustrates five aspects of the Covenant between God and Israel: 1. A permanent covenant and faithfulness: God remains faithful even in the face of unbelief.  2. Constant care: Just as Elisha did for his hostess, God watches over his people without ceasing.  3. God dwells with us: Elisha accepts the room on the terrace: God wishes to dwell amongst his people, as in Solomon’s Temple.  4. God restores: Elisha restores the land; God promises to restore the land to Israel – a key message written during the Babylonian Exile.  5. God is the God of life: A promise of the child’s birth and resurrection, for God gives life. The Shunammite woman becomes a model of faith for us: she welcomes the prophet ‘as a prophet’, as Jesus will say in the Gospel of Matthew (10:41). Her trust is complete: she dares to tell God her needs and even her anger. She recognises Elisha as a ‘holy man of God’. Here is a practical application: God dwells in the heart of every person, and it is important to recognise this. 

Responsorial Psalm (88/89)

Here is a clear message: we must never doubt. The first reading recounts the long friendship between a family from Shunem and the prophet Elisha, the ‘man of God’. Through this human relationship, we reflect on the eternal Covenant between God and his people, and with all humanity. Psalm 88/89, which is proclaimed today, seems to be a song written in the midst of trial.  Although the few verses of the responsorial psalm seem full of joy, the complete psalm, comprising no fewer than 53 verses, was probably composed during the Babylonian Exile. It is a synthesis of the entire history of Israel: the beginning of the Covenant, the promises to David, the expectation of the Messiah… and then the collapse: no more kings in Jerusalem, no heir, and therefore no Messiah. Hence the anguished question in verse 50: ‘Where, O Lord, is your first love, the one you swore to David concerning your faithfulness?’. What is asserted with such force is, in reality, what one fears to have lost. The psalm is, moreover, the last in the third book of the Psalms and concludes with: ‘Blessed be the Lord for ever! Amen! Amen!’. It therefore has the character of a conclusion. On closer inspection, this psalm presents itself as a skilful composition. The first stanza is very carefully crafted, with parallel structures: I will sing of the Lord’s love without end; I will proclaim your faithfulness from age to age. Love/faithfulness, song/proclamation, without end/from age to age, established/stable, for ever/the heavens: a marvellous parallelism between time and space that invites us to cherish the singing of the Psalms.  The heart of the message is Love and faithfulness. In the complete psalm, the pairing ‘love and faithfulness’ occurs seven times, a symbolic number. It is the translation of the revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai: ‘A God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness’ (Ex 34:6) .   In Hebrew, ‘love’—that is, ‘God’s acts of love’—indicates that God does not love merely in words, but ‘in deed and in truth’, as St John will say in the New Testament.  It is precisely during the exile that Israel remembers, more than ever, ‘God’s acts of love’ so as not to fall into the temptation of thinking that God has forgotten them. In short, the psalm presents a group of believers composing hymns to commemorate the faithfulness of God, who has never ceased to be the King of Israel. The phrase “for the Lord is our shield, our King, the Holy One of Israel” is sung precisely at a time when there is no longer a human king. And it is interesting that the psalm uses royal and martial vocabulary: ‘shout of triumph/terouah, power, strength, vigour, shield’ – because the king led the army. These are victorious expressions spoken in a time of defeat. And the psalm concludes by recalling the insults suffered by the Messiah: ‘ Remember, Lord, your servants who have been humiliated… your enemies have humiliated, Lord, your Messiah”.   Moral: it is precisely in the night, in the darkness of exile and trial, that we must believe in the light and in the reaffirmation of God’s promises.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (6:3… 11)

St Paul points to a new way of life and responds to the objection  of those who reproach him, saying that by placing too much emphasis on the free gift of salvation, he is encouraging sin. He retorts: grace does not render sin irrelevant, but it no longer has power over the believer because, from Baptism, the believer is a ‘new creation’: ‘If anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation’ (2 Cor 5:17). Paul explains the meaning of the key word ‘death’, which is not biological, and uses this word in a theological sense: all of us who have been baptised into Christ Jesus have been baptised into his death… we have therefore died to sin, and now we live for God in Christ Jesus. It is a radical break with the past, one that no longer fears physical death. Paul speaks from experience: on the road to Damascus, he ‘died’ to the old self, to his former way of seeing, acting and believing. The ‘baptism’ of Israel thus serves as a key for Paul to explain Christian Baptism, as he clearly recalls in his First Letter to the Corinthians (cf. 1 Cor 10:1–2) . Israel, ‘baptised’ by Moses in the cloud and the sea during the crossing of the Red Sea, experienced the death of Egyptian slavery: forced labour, massacres, the Pharaoh’s bad faith – and thus a clean break with the machinery of oppression.  In this way, Christ brings about the decisive break: the person enslaved by sin, by doubts, by violence, is set free. Jesus, ‘obedient unto death, even death on a cross’ (Phil 2:8), breaks the vicious circle. His death is a triumph: ‘dead to sin once and for all, alive to God’. To live in the manner of Christ is therefore ‘to die to sin’—that is, to die to the old way of life: hatred, violence, the thirst for power and money—in order to ‘live for and in God’, that is, to choose Christ as the one Lord and to enter into a new life made up of love and service to one’s brothers and sisters. Baptism marks the beginning of this radical change: it is true liberation. Paul says to the baptised: “Consider yourselves dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus”. The gift has already been granted, but it remains to be put into practice every day. And here lies the challenge that arises from it: whilst entering into salvation is simple—for it is enough simply to believe—living it out becomes extremely demanding, as it requires us to model our daily lives on the Spirit of Christ. He repeats this in his letter to the Ephesians: ‘Put off the old self… be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, created according to God in righteousness and true holiness’ (Eph 4:22–24). There is but one secret: to keep our eyes fixed on the cross of Christ. Only his obedience and gentleness break the chain of violence. As Jesus says: ‘Abide in me, and I in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, neither can you unless you remain in me’ (Jn 15:4).

From the Gospel according to Matthew (10:37–42)

This text helps us to learn how to accept the necessary sacrifices. At first glance, Matthew 10:37–42 seems like a list of unrelated maxims. In reality, it is a single invitation: these are the detachments required by fidelity to the Gospel. After the Sermon on the Mount on love, Jesus speaks here of other demands. We must learn to love God in times of persecution of the Church: ‘Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me’. Loving God does not mean ceasing to love one’s family, even though he had warned shortly before: ‘Brother will turn against brother and father against son, and children will rise up against their parents and put them to death’ (cf. Mt 10:21). ‘I have not come to bring peace, but a sword… I will set a man against his father’ (Mt 10:34–35; cf. Micah 7:6). How can this be explained?  Every persecution gives rise to personal tragedies because one is forced to choose between faithfulness and death. Even without violence, it is within the family and amongst friends that bearing witness is most difficult and can lead to heart-wrenching conflict. To learn to love is therefore to take up one’s cross: “Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds their life will lose it; whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.”  For Jesus and his listeners, crucifixion was a humiliating form of mass execution carried out along Roman roads, as it exposed the condemned to horror, disgrace and derision. In Deuteronomy we read that the crucified person is ‘cursed by God’ (Deut 21:22–23). And in Psalm 21/22, Jesus proclaims: ‘I am a worm and not a man, scorned by men, rejected by the people’, although the interpretation of this passage helps us to better understand what Jesus meant (in the footnote, I have taken the liberty of including a text I came across). Jesus knows that he and his disciples will be persecuted, despised and humiliated. “A servant is not greater than his master. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you” (John 15:20). “Taking up the cross” means accepting being marginalised, losing one’s reputation for the sake of faithfulness to Christ. Finally, here is the only reward that answers all our objections: “ Whoever welcomes you welcomes me; whoever welcomes me welcomes the One who sent me… Whoever welcomes a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; whoever welcomes a righteous person because he is righteous will receive a righteous person’s reward. And whoever gives even a single glass of cool water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple will not lose his reward”.  It sounds like a ‘give-and-take’, but it is not. We are not in the realm of ‘having’, but of ‘being’. God does not give quantities of goods, but eternal life: life in his very presence. All the saints bear witness to a quality of happiness, not a quantity.  Jesus himself promises: “ ‘Whoever has left houses, brothers, sisters, father, mother, children or fields for my sake will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life’ (Mt 19:29).  Paul lived this out: ‘Whatever gains I once had, I have come to regard as a loss for the sake of Christ… so that I may know Christ, share in his sufferings, and become like him in his death’ (Phil 3:7–10). ‘Being seized by Christ’ is what is at stake. If one seeks a common thread running through this text, it can easily be found in the link between all these phrases, precisely in this verb; ‘being seized by Christ’ as an inner fire that makes possible all acts of renunciation out of fidelity to the Gospel: renunciation of affection, of esteem, of possessions, of life itself. The Beatitudes resound powerfully within our hearts: ‘Blessed are you when they revile you… Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great! ” (Mt 5:11–12).

Note: Jesus, the “worm” on the cross. On the cross, JESUS COMPARED HIMSELF TO AN INSECT TO REVEAL THE SECRET OF HIS DEATH. THIS IS THE MYSTERY OF PSALM 22… As he was dying on the cross, Jesus recited Psalm 22. It is the quintessential prophetic psalm of the crucifixion. But in verse 6 there is a humiliating and bewildering phrase: ‘Yet I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people’ . Why does the King of the universe, at the most glorious moment of redemption, describe himself as a ‘worm’?  Middle Eastern zoology reveals one of nature’s most moving portraits of love. The TOLA’ATH SHANI תּוֹלַעַת שָׁנִי, the Hebrew word used by David, is not the common term for ‘earthworm’. He used Tola’ath Shani, meaning ‘crimson worm’, from which a red dye was extracted. When the female of this crimson worm is ready to give birth, she performs an instinctive and radical act: she seeks out a tree trunk and attaches herself to it forever. It clings to it with such force that, if anyone tries to pry it loose, its body is torn apart.  There, still attached to the wood, it gives birth to its young. To protect them from predators, the mother secretes a crimson-red fluid that covers her entire body, stains the wood red and completely envelops her young. In this act of giving life and protection, the mother dies.  

Here is the extraordinary phenomenon: three days later, the mother’s lifeless body, still attached to the tree, loses its red colour, turns as white as snow and falls gently to the ground (Isaiah 1:18). JESUS NAILED HIMSELF TO THE TREE TO GIVE YOU LIFE: Jesus was not using a metaphor of humiliation, but was proclaiming his mission, and this is a message for us.  Jesus was saying to you from the cross: ‘I am the Tola’ath Shani’. He chose to go to the tree of his own free will. He allowed himself to be nailed to the cross, knowing that if he had come down from it, his ‘children’ – us – would have died at the hands of the predator. He shed his crimson fluid – his blood – to cover you, protect you and give you life, by offering up his own.  When you feel worthless, when you think that nobody cares about you or that the enemy will devour you, look at the wood of the cross. You have a Saviour who chose to die nailed to a tree rather than lose you. His blood has covered you entirely and, three days later, He rose again to make you as white as snow. You are the fruit of His perfect sacrifice!

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul  [29 June 2026]

First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles (12:1–11)

The central theme of this text is: ‘God always delivers for the sake of the mission’. At that time, the young Church was under pressure, and the miracle of Peter’s deliverance must not make us forget the atmosphere of the early Church. Jesus died around AD 30, and at the beginning the disciples were few in number and harmless. The problems began with ‘too spectacular’ healings, which led to Peter being imprisoned twice by the religious authorities: the first time alongside John, involving a trial and threats, whilst the second time alongside other apostles, who were freed at night by an angel: ‘Go, stand in the Temple and proclaim to the people all these words of life’ (Acts 5:17–20).  Then came the execution of Stephen and the persecution that drove the ‘Hellenists’ to flee from Jerusalem towards Samaria and the coast. James, Peter and John remained. In the episode in Acts 12, it is the political authorities who take action. We are under Herod Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great, who reigned alone from 41 to 44 AD. This is why we can date the episode precisely.  Agrippa, ‘a Roman in Caesarea, a Jew in Jerusalem’, sought to curry favour with both Rome and the Jews. In both cases, the Christians were enemies to be eliminated. To please the Jews, he has James, son of Zebedee, put to death and imprisons Peter during the Jewish Passover, the Week of Unleavened Bread. What interests Luke is the mission, not just Peter, who once again escapes miraculously, because for Luke the central point is evangelisation. The angel does not set them free to save them, but because ‘the world needs them’. God does not abandon the apostles: no blind tyranny can halt the proclamation of the Word of life. There is a parallel between Easter, the Exodus and the Passion. In a sense, the story of the Jewish Passover is repeated: Israel, enslaved and threatened with genocide, is miraculously freed by God. From century to century, the people remember that liberation is God’s work. And what of this paradox: can those called to proclaim and carry out God’s liberating work become complicit in a new form of domination? No Church is immune. Jesus died precisely because of the perversion of the religious power of his time: during Easter, the memorial of the liberating God, the Son of God is killed by the ‘defenders of God’. Yet it is the love and forgiveness of the ‘meek and humble of heart’ God that triumphs: Jesus rises from the dead. Now it is the young Church that faces religious and political power, just as Jesus did 10–15 years earlier, again during Passover in Jerusalem.  The angel says to Peter: ‘Get up quickly! Put on your belt, fasten your sandals…’. These are the very same words given to Israel on the night of the Exodus: ‘Gird your loins, put sandals on your feet, and take your staff in your hand. You shall eat it in haste’ (Ex 12:11). Luke is saying: God continues the work of liberation.  The entire narrative is structured on the model of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection: night, prison, soldiers, the ‘steamroller’ of domination. Peter sleeps passively, like Jesus in the sleep of death. For both of them, light dawns in the night: God is at work. And here is the conclusion: Jesus had said to Peter: ‘The forces of death—that is, of hatred—will not prevail’, and this teaches us that the miraculous is not an end in itself. God sets us free so that the mission may continue through the ages. The deliverance from Egypt, Christ’s Passover, Peter’s imprisonment: it is a single plan of God who saves in order to send us forth to proclaim the life that no one can destroy.

Responsorial Psalm (33/34)

In this psalm, we are guided by this central theme: God hears the cry of the poor and responds with the Spirit and with brothers and sisters.  After Peter’s deliverance, the psalm reminds us: ‘The angel of the Lord encamps round those who fear him, to deliver them’. And we realise that, whilst the whole Church was praying fervently for Peter in prison, the Lord set him free: ‘The poor cry out,’ says the psalm, ‘and the Lord hears…’. This is what faith is: daring to cry out to God, knowing that, in every circumstance, He hears our cry. The community cried out, and Peter was set free. Yet one question always remains: what if deliverance does not come? Jesus on the cross did not escape death. Peter himself, years later, would be imprisoned in Rome and executed. So was God no longer listening then? It is the question we keep asking ourselves: where is God when we suffer? What is the point of praying, and if we are not answered as we would like, does that mean we have prayed badly? Too many people say, ‘If you pray properly, everything will work out’, but we know that is not always the case. How many have prayed, made novenas and gone on pilgrimages for a healing that never came? This psalm offers us three answers. 1. God hears our cry. As at the burning bush: ‘I have seen the misery of my people in Egypt; I have heard their cry under their oppressors. I know their sufferings’ (Ex 3:7). The believer knows that the Lord is near in suffering, ‘on our side’. Psalm 33/34 says: ‘I sought the Lord, and he answered me… he delivered me. He listens, he saves; his angel encamps round us, he is a refuge’. 2. God responds by giving us his Spirit. “Ask, and it will be given to you… Which father… would give a snake to a son who asks for a fish?” (Luke 11:9–13). Jesus does not promise that everything will be resolved “as if by magic”. When we pray, God does not remove the problem, but fills us with his Spirit. With the Spirit, we can face our trials. Every prayer offered in faith opens us up to the transforming action of the Spirit. The answer to the desperate cry is therefore the inner strength of the Spirit to change the situation, to overcome the trial. “The poor man cries out; the Lord hears him: he saves him from all his troubles… I sought the Lord, and he answered me: he delivered me from all my fears.” Whatever blow may come, the believer knows they are heard, and their anguish can subside. 3. God raises up brothers and sisters around us.  Here is the second lesson from the burning bush: as soon as God says to Moses, ‘I have seen… I have heard the cry… I know their sufferings’, he stirs within Moses the impulse to free the people: “Go, I am sending you to Pharaoh; bring my people out of Egypt” (Ex 3:9–10).  Israel has experienced this pattern many times: suffering, a cry, prayer, and God raising up prophets and leaders to take their destiny back into their own hands. This is precisely the historical experience of Israel. 4. Faith is like a double word, a double cry: man cries out his misery to God, like Job. God listens and frees him from his anguish. And man speaks again to give thanks.  Israel’s vocation throughout the centuries has been to give voice to this polyphony of suffering, praise and hope, and throughout the course of its history nothing has been able to extinguish Israel’s hope. This is what characterises the believer:  ‘I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall ever be on my lips. I take pride in the Lord: let the poor hear and rejoice!’

Second Reading from the Second Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to Timothy (4:6–8, 17–18)

Not everyone agrees that the Letters to Timothy were written by Paul, but these lines are certainly his: indeed, they are his testament, his final farewell as a prisoner in Rome. He knows that he will be released only to be put to death. The ‘time of departure’ has come: he uses the Greek term anàlysis, ‘to cast off the moorings, to weigh anchor’.  Viewing life as a marathon, Paul takes stock using the sporting image dear to him: the long-distance runner crossing the finish line. The time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now all that remains is for me to receive the crown of righteousness.  In Rome, the victor did not receive a cup, but a laurel wreath. There is a crown for everyone, so Paul does not boast: he knows that the Lord, the righteous judge, will award it on that day; not only to me, but also to all those who have lovingly awaited his glorious appearing. God, the impartial judge, sees the intentions of the heart, and all the apostles, all the believers who have longed with love for the coming of Christ, will receive the crown. It is therefore not presumption, but unshakeable trust in God’s goodness. For the very strength to run comes from Him: ‘The Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that I might fulfil the proclamation of the Gospel and all the nations might hear it’. We must learn to expect everything from God: it is He who gives the strength to run, and it is He who gives the reward to all who run, for life is not a competitive race. Each in their own place, at their own pace; it is enough to ‘long with love for the coming of Christ’. Is this not the ‘blessed hope’ we profess at Mass: ‘We await your coming in glory’? For Paul, the definitive ‘manifestation’ of Christ has always been the horizon towards which to run, and he acknowledges that he has been forsaken by men, yet always sustained by the Lord. Like Christ on the cross and later Stephen, Paul forgives because it was precisely in his abandonment by men that he experienced the presence and strength of the Lord.  The final sentences are striking: he knows he will die, yet he says, ‘The Lord will deliver me from every evil and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom’. He is not, therefore, speaking of physical death, which he expects from one day to the next; he is speaking of the worst danger: giving up, abandoning the race, losing faithfulness. The Lord has preserved him from this ‘lion’. His faithfulness is not his own doing, but a strength he has received; and for him, death is merely biological, rather than the passage into glory, for which he is already singing the hymn of joy: ‘To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen’.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:13–19)

At Caesarea, a turning point is reached; an important shift takes place in the vision of Christ: from the powerful Jesus to Jesus, the Son of God, crucified.  For Matthew, the episode at Caesarea Philippi is a decisive stage: immediately afterwards, Jesus began to explain to the disciples that he had to go to Jerusalem, suffer greatly at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, be killed and rise again on the third day. ‘From this moment on’: thus a phase comes to an end, and what is surprising is that nothing new occurs in the titles, but everything is placed in a new light. Nothing unprecedented is said: Jesus gives himself the title ‘Son of Man’, which he has already used nine times in Matthew. Peter proclaims him ‘Son of God’, a title already used before. What is new is the leap in understanding: the ‘Son of Man’ in the Bible is the leader of God’s people, a title taken from the Book of Daniel: ‘Behold, one like a Son of Man was coming with the clouds of heaven… power, glory and a kingdom were given to him; all peoples, nations and languages served him. His power is eternal; his kingdom will never be destroyed’ (Dan 7:13–14). Daniel makes it clear that the ‘Son of Man’ is not merely an individual, but a people: ‘The saints of the Most High shall receive the kingdom and possess it for ever… the kingdom, the power and the greatness of the kingdoms under the whole heaven shall be given to the people of the saints of the Most High’ (Dan 7:18, 27) .  When Jesus applies this title to himself, he presents himself as the one who stands at the head of God’s people. ‘Son of God’, on the other hand, is a title that expresses trust, not power.  This title has already been used: in chapter 4, when the devil tempts Jesus: ‘If you are the Son of God’. He is right about the title, but wrong about its meaning: he imagines a powerful and invulnerable Son who uses his power for himself. For Jesus, ‘being the Son of God’ means trusting the Father completely and drawing strength from his Word.  After Jesus walks on the water, the disciples say to him: ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’. They were struck by his power over the sea. They were still one step away from understanding who Jesus truly is. What is new at Caesarea is that Peter proclaims, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God’, not in response to a miracle; thus the ambiguity is dispelled and the journey towards true faith begins. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah: it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.”  The novelty lies in the combination of the two titles: “Who is the Son of Man?” asks Jesus, and Peter replies, “He is the Son of God.” Jesus will make the same connection before the high priest: “You have said so. But I tell you: from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Mt 26:63). Here there is no longer any room for error: God reveals himself not as power and majesty, but as Love entrusted into the hands of humankind. As soon as Peter discovers who Jesus is,  Jesus entrusts him with a mission  for the Church: ‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church’. The Son of Man is a people, not an isolated individual.  On what does Christ—God made man—build his Church? On Peter, a fragile person whose only virtue is having listened to what the Father revealed to him. The sole pillar of the Church is faith in Jesus Christ.  ‘I will give you the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven: whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven’. This does not mean that Peter and his successors are omnipotent. It means that God is committed to them. If we remain in communion with the Church, we are in communion with God. The final reassurance is that Christ builds the Church, and herein lies the ultimate reason for our trust: Jesus says, ‘I will build my Church’. It is not our task to build it, but only to listen to what the living God wishes to reveal to us. And because it is the risen Christ, the Son of the living God, who builds it, we can be certain: “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it”.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Word and Faith: God is not bound to an external expression

(Mt 8:5-17)

Mt writes his Gospel to encourage community members and stimulate the mission to the Gentiles, which the Jewish Christians were not yet ready to make their own.

The incipient Faith of a converted pagan is the example that Jesus sets before that of the observant Israelites.

But to say Faith (vv.10.13) means to advocate a deeper adhesion, and [together] a less strong manifestation.

What heals is believing in the efficacy of his only Word (vv.8-9.16), an event that possesses generative and re-creative power.

In the Judaizing communities of Galilee and Syria, still in the mid-70s one wondered: does the new Law of God proclaimed on ‘the Mount’ of Beatitudes creates exclusions?

Or does it correspond to the hopes and deep sensitivity of the human heart, of every place and time (vv.10-12)?

The distant possessed a strong insight into the novelties of the Spirit, and discovered the experience of Faith from other positions - not installed, less linked to conformal concatenations; perhaps uncomfortable.

Not infrequently they were just the latest arrivals who stood out for their freshness of substantial intuition - and saw clearly.

It was enough to communicate one-one with the Lord, in a sense of sure friendship (v.6).

There is no need for who knows what additions to this secret, to be reborn. God is Immediate Action (v.7).

The personal relationship between the common man and the Father in Christ is sober and instantaneous.

Starting from his simple experience, the centurion understands the "remote" value of the Word and the magnet-effect of the true Faith [which does not claim "contacts" or material and local elements: vv.8-9].

In short, cultural and religious conformism remained a burden.

Here and there were missing both the experience of personal Christ the Saviour, and the complete discovery of full Life’s power contained in the new total and ‘creative’ proposal of «the Mount».

But there is nothing to fear: God has preceded us; the different and far away is not a stranger, but brother.

Therefore, what saves is not belonging to a tradition or new fashion of thought and worship.

Not demanding that the Lord arrives in a certain form means not imagining Him tied to an external expression.

We can achieve and grasp Him only intimately, for certain vision - uncluttered with indispensable imagined beliefs - no matter what happens.

He will be revealed time by time in the way best suited to our limits.

In short, those distant from us are totally «worthy» people, although sometimes wavering - like everyone else.

God is in their flesh and in their hearth.

And in Christ we are educated to dilate the horizon of external vertical relations, typical of a lowered head religiosity.

The divine Face is already within the things of our environment, and in persons that Providence puts next to us - even across borders.

[Saturday 12.th wk. in O.T.  June 27, 2026]

Discovering that we are worthy and Jesus’ feminine touch

(Mt 8:5–17)

‘The essential thing is to listen to what rises up from within. Our actions are often nothing more than imitation, a hypothetical duty or a mistaken representation of what it means to be human. But the only true certainty that touches our lives and our actions can come only from the springs that gush forth from the depths of our being.
One is at home under the sky; one is at home anywhere on this earth if one carries everything within oneself.
I have often felt, and still feel, like a ship that has taken on board a precious cargo:
the ropes are cut and now the ship sails on, free to navigate everywhere’.

[Etty Hillesum, Diary]

    The Tao Te Ching (LIII) says: ‘The Great Way is very level, but people prefer the paths’.

Commenting on this passage, the masters Wang Pi and Ho-shang Kung emphasise: ‘winding paths’.

The fledgling faith of a converted pagan is the example that Jesus holds up above that of the observant Israelites.

What heals is believing in the efficacy of his Word alone (vv. 8–9, 16), an event that possesses generative and recreative power.

The Lord shows compassion, usually by touching the sick or laying his hands on them, as if to absorb what was imagined to be impurity, a deviation from normality [a ‘fever’ or paralysis that was believed to render the person in need unworthy in God’s eyes].

In the Judaising communities of Galilee and Syria, as late as the mid-70s, people were still asking: does God’s new Law, proclaimed on ‘the Mount’ of the Beatitudes, create exclusions?

Or does it correspond to the hopes and the deep sensibilities of the human heart, in every place and time (vv. 10–12)?

Those on the margins possessed a keen intuition for the new things of the Spirit, and discovered the lived experience of faith from different perspectives – unestablished, less bound by conformist conventions; perhaps even uncomfortable ones.

It was not uncommon for the newcomers themselves to stand out for the freshness of their fundamental insight – and to see things clearly.

All that was needed was to communicate face to face with the Lord, in a spirit of assured friendship (v. 6).

There is no need for any great additions to this secret in order to be reborn. God is immediate Action (v. 7).

The personal relationship between the ordinary person and the Father in Christ is unadorned and instantaneous.

Drawing on his own simple experience, the centurion grasps the ‘remote’ value of the Word and the magnetic pull of true Faith [which does not require ‘contacts’ or material and local elements: vv. 8–9].

In short, cultural heritage and ancient religious conformism remained a burden.

Here and there, there was a lack of both the experience of Christ as one’s personal Saviour and the full realisation of the power of life contained in the new, all-encompassing and creative proposal of ‘the Mount’.

Matthew writes his Gospel to encourage members of the community and to spur on the mission to the Gentiles, which the Jewish Christians were not yet ready to embrace.

But to speak of ‘Faith’ (vv. 10, 13) means to advocate a deeper commitment, and [at the same time] a less overt expression.

The expression of personal Faith is not to repeat or water down a learned doctrine, nor the convictions of others.

There is no need to fear: God has gone before us; the one who is different and far away is not a stranger, but a brother.

Therefore, what saves is not belonging to a tradition or a way of thinking and worship.

Not demanding that the Lord appear in a certain form means not imagining him bound to an external expression.

He is reached and grasped only intimately, through certain vision – free from imagined convictions deemed indispensable – whatever may happen.

He will reveal himself each time in the way best suited to our limitations.

Those who are distant from us are creatures who are wholly ‘worthy’, though at times wavering and fallible.

They are not self-sufficient, nor are they sufficient, like everyone else – simply because they do not realise that God is in their very flesh and in their own homes.

Thanks to this clear awareness in the Son, they can finally comprehend the Father’s supreme Love, which is freely given and without reserve; a Love that astounds, helps them overcome their awkwardness and propels them forward.

The pagan is conditioned by his hierarchical world, but upon encountering Christ he discovers himself to be a fully adequate and fulfilled person.

Not because he has earned or granted favours to the chosen people, or fulfilled a special kind of observance (by reciting formulas with an imprimatur).

In the Lord, he himself is taught to broaden the horizons of conventional religion – which consists of external, vertical relationships.

Although he recognises his own shortcomings [v.8 Greek text], he senses that his relationship with God does not depend on an exchange of favours.

Such an immediate and spontaneous personal friendship is not subordinate to works of the law, nor does it spring from fulfilled rules of purity.

Nor is it subject to a religious relationship in which one bows one’s head.

The ‘distant one’ embraces love. In this way, he is already liberated from a superficial, shallow, commonplace mindset.

In the Lord, he himself is taught to broaden the horizons of conventional religion.

He believes, in fact, that the Word of the Lord – as the Way, beyond synchronised or predetermined places and times – brings about what it proclaims.

And that it brings this about even from a distance; without even sensational or peremptory signs that cause a commotion.

Rather, by liberating the mysterious Energy [still imprisoned] of the ‘Logos’ (v.7).

An unconventional Word, which does not spin idly.

This is so, despite the fact that this Power may be found mingled with convictions that are at times contradictory:

He is already far removed from a magical and carnal mindset.

But he must still take the decisive step that will enable him to grow beyond this – and this concerns us closely.

Self-esteem must be the attitude of even the most distant children, at all costs.

Not out of some vague or emotional inner feeling, but because of a Presence that is guaranteed regardless – indeed, already at work, though sometimes unconsciously so.

Internalising this will be the work – and the ‘something more’ – of mature Faith, which sees, grasps and penetrates the preparatory energies at work.

And it actualises them, anticipating the future.

‘I am not worthy’ is, along with ‘Have mercy on me’ or ‘Son of David’, one of the most unfortunate expressions of spiritual and missionary life.

These are phrases that Jesus abhors, even though they have become commonplace in certain liturgical expressions.

The prodigal son tries, with the very same rambling expression [‘I am no longer worthy’], to move the Father, who precisely does not allow him to finish this absurd tirade.

Rather, He prevents him from considering himself ‘one of his servants’ and kneeling before Him [Lk 15:21ff].

This would truly be the only danger that jeopardises one’s entire life; not merely a small part of one’s existence.

Through faith in Christ, from being incomplete we become not only most worthy, but we are thus, here and now, perfect to fulfil our vocation.

Of course, some ideologue or purist might consider us old-fashioned, or even still clinging to pagan ways.

Our great and only risk is precisely that of absorbing such oppressive opinions from our surroundings and allowing ourselves to be influenced by them.

It is not uncommon for every social context to operate according to the logic of hierarchies and power relations, whereby, for example, the subordinate should not consider themselves on the same level as their superior.

But at this rate, we can no longer perceive the divine Presence.

The Face of the Eternal One is within us and in our home; not in a chain of command with conditioning influences, but in our surroundings and in those who stand by us – even beyond our borders.

Family, friends, loved ones and others are all on the same level. The same applies to God: we are face to face.

Nor does the ‘I and You’ framework with the Son matter any more: for – having become incarnate in a universal sense – He has planted His Heaven, as well as His very healing power [even that of self-healing], ‘within’ us.

Thanks to the Master, we are no longer within an ideology of submission – identical to that which prevailed in the empire – nor in a well-disciplined barracks, with distinct roles and confined spheres.

The structure of external propriety has no place in the Gospels.

In short, the Father no longer asks anyone to obey ‘authorities’, but rather to ‘resemble’ Him.

This is achieved simply by each of us responding to this sort of higher Presence that dwells within us and loves us.

It is the end of empty formalities: we are intimate and of the same blood as our own hidden Self, the supreme Face.

There is absolutely no need to ‘implore’ God (v.5) as if we were ‘subordinates’ (v.9).

Our task is to cultivate and acquire a new ‘eye’, not to submit to organisational hierarchies.

The reborn gaze intuitively perceives other virtues – it is not subject to classifications incapable of immediate fruitfulness.

Enough of these feelings of inadequacy!

They end up drawing us into cloisters and spire-like dynamics (v.9) typical of any stagnant feudalism.

A quagmire that annihilates the new power of love – rendering structures chronic.

Configurations set in stone by too many tedious chains of command and local monarchies [as we see, for example, in the provinces].

In the natural listening to oneself and to events, genuine esteem and divine gratuitousness guide us, wave upon wave, towards a new way of living and exchanging gifts.

An arduous path for those bound by habit; for the obviousness that does not shift one’s thoughts, and does not perceive.

A path inaccessible to those who act out of duty – an enigmatic, opaque, insidious and highly ‘tortuous’ path.

To internalise and live out the message:

How do you understand and nurture the certain and free Coming of Jesus into your home?

Catholic

    The Church is Catholic because Christ embraces all humanity in his mission of salvation. Whilst Jesus’ mission during his earthly life was limited to the Jewish people, ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Mt 15:24), it was nevertheless directed from the outset towards bringing the light of the Gospel to all peoples and bringing all nations into the Kingdom of God. Faced with the faith of the centurion in Capernaum, Jesus exclaims: ‘I tell you that many will come from the east and the west and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven’ (Mt 8:11). This universalist perspective emerges, amongst other things, from Jesus’ presentation of himself not only as the ‘Son of David’, but as the ‘Son of Man’ (Mk 10:33), as we have also heard in the Gospel passage just proclaimed. The title ‘Son of Man’, in the language of Jewish apocalyptic literature inspired by the vision of history in the Book of the Prophet Daniel (cf. 7:13–14), evokes the figure who comes ‘on the clouds of heaven’ (v. 13); it is an image that heralds an entirely new kingdom, a kingdom sustained not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God. Jesus makes use of this rich and complex expression and applies it to Himself to reveal the true nature of His messianism: a mission intended for all of humanity and for every individual, transcending all ethnic, national and religious particularism. And it is precisely by following Jesus, by allowing ourselves to be drawn into his humanity and thus into communion with God, that we enter this new kingdom, which the Church proclaims and anticipates, and which overcomes fragmentation and dispersion.

[Pope Benedict, address at the Consistory, 24 November 2012]

The Power of the Word and the Creativity

of Jesus’ Healing Touch (in the feminine form)

    In the Judaising communities of Galilee and Syria, as late as the mid-70s, people were still asking: does God’s new Law, proclaimed on ‘the Mount’ of the Beatitudes, create exclusions? Or does it correspond to the hopes and the deep sensibilities of the human heart, in every place and time (vv. 10–12)?

The pagans possessed a keen intuition for the newness of the Spirit, and discovered the lived experience of Faith from different perspectives (unconventional, less bound by established conventions; perhaps even uncomfortable).

It was not uncommon for the newcomers themselves to possess the freshness of a fundamental intuition, and to see things clearly. This was in contrast to the veterans – more attached to the leaves than to the seed – to whom they offered salutary jolts of unadulterated trust, wedded to the Newness of God.

Unlike those coming from habitual or markedly ethnic forms of religiosity (even from Israel), they had already realised that it was not necessary to explicitly ask for Christ’s intervention – as was done with the ancient gods (and according to customary thinking). 

It was enough to communicate face to face with the Lord, in a spirit of secure friendship (v.6) – not to urge him to perform a miracle: a fundamental realisation, so that even today we may set a new course in motion, and finally break free from the notion of a finely chiselled (and chosen) organic culture.

It is the Risen One who genuinely does what is right… and everything else: just as in Jesus – strengthened by the intimate experience of the Father in the Spirit – so too for us, Faith is enough, that is, the nuptial and fruitful trust in the Word, which is effective and inventive.

There is no need for any great additions to this secret in order to be reborn.

God is Immediate Action (v.7): he does not like to be ‘prayed to over and over again’ – as if he were just any sovereign who takes pleasure in forcing his subjects into deference (with a view to a consequent paternalism in relationships).

The relationship between the ordinary man and the Father in Christ is unadorned and instantaneous, without any form of mediation whatsoever: the work of Grace is in no way conditioned by acknowledgements and formulas, or ‘internal’ titles, or veteran status; nor by calculated bows, prior ‘bribes’, or bureaucratic procedures.

Drawing on his own simple experience, the centurion grasps the ‘remote’ value of the Word and the magnetic pull of true Faith (which does not require ‘contacts’ or material and local elements: vv. 8–9).

It is not like magic: the intimate sensitivity of the relationship of Faith conveys to the eye of the soul a Vision of a new genesis. Not doctrine, discipline, morality, ritual observances and so on.

It is a vision of the future (deeply existential) that does not serve to anticipate (v. 13) a self-serving outcome, useful only to the believer, or merely for the sake of nomenclature: it is for the promotion of life, everywhere.

This corresponds to the deepest longing of our hearts.

Indeed, another major innovation in the new Rabbi’s teaching – which was spreading – was the acceptance of women as what we would today call ‘deaconesses’ (cf. v. 15, Greek verb) of the Church, here in the figure of the House of Peter (v. 14).

This was what had been happening since the middle of the first century (cf. Rom 16:1) and still has much to teach us. With God, one cannot become accustomed to (multi-)centuries-old formalities that have been drained of life.

But religious traditions resisted the onslaught of the experience of Faith-Love: even in the mid-1970s, communities did not feel free to take in those in need of care until evening had fallen (v. 16).    

According to the parallel passage in Mark 1:21, 29–34 (the source of the passage in Matthew), it was in fact the Sabbath – and after leaving the synagogue. The same hindrance and delay are described in the episode of Mary Magdalene at the tomb on Easter morning.

Cultural heritage and sacred religious conformism remained a heavy burden on the experience of Christ the personal Saviour, and on the full discovery of the power of Life in its fullness contained in the new, all-encompassing and creative proposal of ‘the Mountain’.

The Tao writes (xxviii): ‘He who knows he is male, yet remains female, is the strength of the world; being the strength of the world, virtue never departs from him, and he returns to being a child. He who knows he is pure, yet remains obscure, is the model of the world; being the model of the world, virtue never strays from him; and he returns to the infinite. He who knows he is glorious, yet remains in ignominy, is the valley of the world; being the valley of the world, virtue always abides in him; and he returns to being unpolished [genuine, unartificial]. When that which is unpolished is cut, then it is made into tools; when the sage makes use of it, then he makes it the foremost among his ministers. ‘For this reason, the great government does no harm.’

And so Master Wang Pi comments: ‘Here, the masculine represents the category of the one who precedes, whilst the feminine represents the category of the one who follows. He who knows he is first in the world must place himself last: for this reason, the sage puts himself last, and yet he is placed first. A gorge amongst the mountains does not seek out creatures, yet they turn to it of their own accord. The child does not rely on wisdom, but adapts to the wisdom of spontaneity’.

In the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas, we read in verses 22–23:

‘Jesus saw some little ones drinking milk

And said to his disciples:

“These little ones who are drinking milk are like those

Who enter the Kingdom”.

They asked him:

‘If we are like those children, will we enter the Kingdom?’

Jesus replied to them:

‘When you make two things into one, and make

the inside the same as the outside, and the outside the same as the inside,

and the higher the same as the lower,

When you reduce the male and the female to a single being

So that the male is not merely male

And the female does not remain merely female,

When you regard two eyes as a single eye

But a hand as a single hand

And a foot as a single foot,

A vital function in place of a vital function

Then you will find the entrance to the Kingdom.”

‘Jesus said:

“I shall choose one out of a thousand and two out of ten thousand,

And these shall turn out to be a single individual.”’

This universalist perspective can be seen, among other things, from the way Jesus applied to himself not only the title “Son of David”, but also “Son of Man” (Mk 10:33), as in the Gospel passage that we have just heard.  The expression “Son of Man”, in the language of Jewish apocalyptic literature inspired by the vision of history found in the book of the prophet Daniel (cf. 7:13-14), calls to mind the figure who appears “with the clouds of heaven” (v. 13).  This is an image that prophesies a completely new kingdom, sustained not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God.  Jesus takes up this rich and complex expression and refers it to himself in order to manifest the true character of his Messianism: a mission directed to the whole man and to every man, transcending all ethnic, national and religious particularities.  And it is actually by following Jesus, by allowing oneself to be drawn into his humanity and hence into communion with God, that one enters this new kingdom proclaimed and anticipated by the Church, a kingdom that conquers fragmentation and dispersal.

[Pope Benedict, Consistory, 24 November 2012]

1. Looking at the primary objective of the Jubilee, which is the "strengthening of faith and of the witness of Christians" (Tertio millennio adveniente, n. 42), after outlining in previous catecheses the basic characteristics of the salvation offered by Christ, today we pause to reflect on the faith he expects of us.

"The obedience of faith", Dei Verbum teaches, "must be given to God as he reveals himself" (n. 5). God revealed himself in the Old Covenant, asking of the people he had chosen a fundamental response of faith. In the fullness of time, this faith is called to be renewed and increased, to respond to the revelation of the incarnate Son of God. Jesus expressly asks for it when he speaks to his disciples at the Last Supper: "Believe in God, believe also in me" (Jn 14:1).

2. Jesus had already asked the group of the 12 Apostles to profess their faith in his person. At Caesarea Philippi, after questioning his disciples about the people's opinion of his identity, he asks: "But who do you say that I am?" (Mt16:15). The reply comes from Simon Peter: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (16:16).

Jesus immediately confirms the value of this profession of faith, stressing that it stems not only from human thought idea but from heavenly inspiration: "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). These statements, in strongly Semitic tones, indicate the total, absolute and supreme revelation: the one that concerns the person of Christ, Son of God.

Peter's profession of faith will remain the definitive expression of Christ's identity. Mark uses this same expression to begin his Gospel (cf. Mk 1:1) and John refers to it at the end of his, saying that he has written his Gospel so that you may believe "that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God", and that in believing you may have life in his name (cf. Jn20:31).

3. In what does faith consist? The Constitution Dei Verbum explains that by faith, "man freely commits his entire self to God, making 'the full submission of his intellect and will to God who reveals'" (n. 5). Thus faith is not only the intellect's adherence to the truth revealed, but also a submission of the will and a gift of self to God revealing himself. It is a stance that involves one's entire existence.

The Council also recalls that this faith requires "the grace of God to move [man] and assist him; he must have the interior helps of the Holy Spirit, who moves the heart and converts it to God, who opens the eyes of the mind and 'makes it easy for all to accept and believe the truth'" (ibid.). In this way we can see how, on the one hand, faith enables us to welcome the truth contained in Revelation and proposed by the Magisterium of those who, as Pastors of God's People, have received a "sure charism of truth" (Dei Verbum, n. 8). On the other hand, faith also spurs us to true and deep consistency, which must be expressed in all aspects of a life modeled on that of Christ.

4. As a fruit of grace, faith exercises an influence on events. This is wonderfully seen in the exemplary case of the Blessed Virgin. Her faith-filled acceptance of the angel's message at the Annunciation is decisive for Jesus' very coming into the world. Mary is the Mother of Christ because she first believed in him.

At the wedding feast in Cana, Mary, obtains the miracle through her faith. Despite Jesus' reply, which does not seem very favourable, she keeps her trustful attitude, thus becoming a model of the bold and constant faith which overcomes obstacles.

The faith of the Caananite woman was also bold and insistent. Jesus countered this woman, who had come to seek the cure of her daughter, with the Father's plan which restricted his mission to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. The Caananite replied with the full force of her faith and obtained the miracle: "O woman! Great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire" (Mt 15:28).

5. In many other cases the Gospel witnesses to the power of faith. Jesus expresses his admiration for the centurion's faith: "Truly, I say to you, not even in Israel have I found such faith" (Mt 8:10). And to Bartimaeus: "Go your way your faith has made you well" (Mk 10:52). He says the same thing to the woman with a haemorrhage (cf. Mk 5:34). 

His words to the father of the epileptic who wanted his son to be cured are no less striking: "All things are possible to him who believes" (Mk 9:23).

The role of faith is to co-operate with this omnipotence. Jesus asks for this co-operation to the point that upon returning to Nazareth, he works almost no miracles because the inhabitants of his village did not believe in him (cf. Mk 6:5-6). For Jesus, faith has a decisive importance for the purposes of salvation.

St Paul will develop Christ's teaching when, in conflict with those who wished to base the hope of salvation on observance of the Jewish law, he forcefully affirms that faith in Christ is the only source of salvation: "We hold that a man is justified by faith apart from works of law" (Rom 3:28). However, it must not be forgotten that St Paul was thinking of that authentic and full faith which "works through love" (Gal 5:6). True faith is animated by love of God, which is inseparable from love for our brothers and sisters.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience, 18 March 1998]

Let us allow Jesus to meet us ‘with our defences down, with open hearts’, so that he may renew us from the depths of our souls. This is Pope Francis’s invitation at the start of Advent. The Pontiff addressed these words to the faithful during Mass celebrated this morning, Monday 2 December, in the Chapel of Santa Marta.

The journey we are beginning in these days, he began, is ‘a new journey for the Church, a journey of the People of God, towards Christmas. And we are journeying to meet the Lord’. Christmas is, in fact, an encounter: not merely ‘a seasonal celebration or — as the Pontiff specified — a memory of something beautiful. Christmas is more than that. We are travelling this path to meet the Lord’. Thus, during Advent, ‘we journey to meet him. To meet him with our hearts, with our lives; to meet him as he truly is; to meet him with faith’.

In truth, it is not ‘easy to live by faith’, noted the Bishop of Rome. And he recalled the story of the centurion who, according to the account in the Gospel of Matthew (8:5–11), fell prostrate before Jesus to ask him to heal his servant. ‘The Lord, in the passage we have just heard,’ explained the Pope, ‘was amazed by this centurion. He was amazed by the faith he possessed. He had set out on a journey to meet the Lord. But he had done so with faith. That is why not only did he meet the Lord, but he also experienced the joy of being met by the Lord. And this is precisely the encounter we desire: the encounter of faith. To encounter the Lord, but to allow ourselves to be encountered by him. This is very important!’

When we limit ourselves merely to encountering the Lord, he pointed out, ‘we are — though let us put this in inverted commas — the “masters” of this encounter’. When, on the other hand, ‘we allow ourselves to be encountered by him, it is he who enters into us’ and renews us completely.

‘This,’ the Holy Father reiterated, ‘is what it means when Christ comes: to make everything new again, to renew the heart, the soul, life, hope and the journey.’

At this time of the liturgical year, therefore, we are on a journey to encounter the Lord, but also and above all ‘to allow ourselves to be encountered by him’. And we must do so with an open heart, “so that he may meet me, tell me what he wants to say to me—which is not always what I want him to say to me!” Let us not forget, then, that “he is the Lord and he will tell me what he has in store for me”, for each one of us, because “the Lord,” the Pontiff pointed out, “does not look at us all together, as a mass: no, no! He looks at us one by one, in the face, in the eyes, because love is not an abstract love but a concrete love. Person by person. The Lord, a person, looks at me, a person’. That is why allowing ourselves to be met by the Lord ultimately means ‘allowing ourselves to be loved by the Lord’.

‘In the prayer at the beginning of Mass,’ the Pope recalled, ‘we asked for the grace to undertake this journey with certain attitudes that will help us. Perseverance in prayer: to pray more. Diligence in fraternal charity: to draw a little closer to those in need. And joy in praising the Lord.’ So “let us begin this journey with prayer, charity and praise, with open hearts, so that the Lord may meet us”. But, the Pope asked in conclusion, “please, let him meet us with our defences down, open to him!”

[Pope Francis, homily at Santa Marta, in L’Osservatore Romano, 3 December 2013]

                                                                                                                                                         The ham.

The Treccani dictionary defines ‘ham’ as: ‘one who acts in theatrical performances’. In common parlance and in a figurative sense: ‘someone who adopts exaggeratedly theatrical behaviour in life; someone who puts on a show in a blatant and undignified manner’.

Many years ago, when I was still a teenager, Charles Aznavour released a beautiful song containing these words: ‘I am a ham. But genius was born with me […] but theatricality flows within me’.

A song which, if I’m not mistaken, was later covered by Massimo Ranieri some time later.

Perhaps those of us who are a bit older will also remember the original version.

A few days ago, I bumped into a young man with a VIP-like air about him, whom I’ve known since he was born.

He stopped, greeted me warmly and began telling me about his life, his work in the world of politics and his travels.

He said that one of his goals is to visit the wonders of the world and that he’d just returned from one such destination. He solemnly declared that he’d already visited several of them.

All this without me having asked anything, partly because he didn’t give me the chance. 

He was too caught up in his soliloquy and I was merely a spectator.

At the end of his speech, he tells me that he has completed dental treatment for a tooth that had been causing him a great deal of trouble and that he is still in pain […] he lists the medicines he is taking. Then he looks at me and ironically reiterates that when doctors encounter difficulties in their work, they always say it’s down to the mind.

And here came a thunderous laugh, coupled with all the ‘pathos’ with which he’d woven his narrative.

The only thing missing was the final round of applause, which didn’t come. Just a cordial ‘goodbye’.                                                                          My professional bias kicked in as I reflected on what had happened.

There are people who, rather than simply connecting with others, need to put on a show and seek the approval of others.   

This is something we all do to a certain extent, within acceptable limits, and it gives us pleasure. Such people sometimes go in search of an ‘audience’ where they can express and display their feelings and experiences, without worrying about building a relationship or a genuine connection – and once they have communicated their emotions, they leave quickly, often in search of another ‘audience’. 

They must always be the centre of attention and often express their emotions in a  theatrical manner. Everything they achieve is something grand; all their actions are ‘a triumph’.

Behind this behaviour, there is usually an enormous fear of being alone, of being abandoned. Of course, we all have these fears to some extent, but we do not resort to compensatory mechanisms of that sort.

Sometimes we are afraid of certain emotions we feel, as if we feared that what we are feeling is unhealthy. 

We must always bear in mind that what happens within our psyche is not entirely random or pathological, but purposeful and constructive. There are not only demons; there are angels too.

I can’t recall whether I’ve already expressed this idea, but I’ll reiterate it because I consider it important and because I think we’ll be less frightened if we realise we’re experiencing certain feelings.

Without referring to psychological manuals or classifications… we’ve all probably experienced feelings like those described above at certain times in our lives.

People with these characteristics are ‘theatrical’ and express their experiences in an exaggerated manner.

They can be seductive or even provocative.

They use their physical appearance in an exaggerated way to get noticed and appear interesting.

They rely more on emotion than on reflection, and tend towards superficiality and banality.

They are also easily influenced and idealise the people they admire; sometimes to the point of imitating them.

They dream of ideal love, but often become involved in unsuitable and unattainable relationships.

They exaggerate every physical sensation, even when there is no actual physical pain.

In severe cases, many people channel and project these emotions onto parts of the body that are psychologically significant to the individual and their personal history.

And so, as the young VIP mentioned above humorously put it, the psyche comes into play.

I do not wish to bore readers or come across as melodramatic myself, but many individuals have often expressed their unease through their bodies.

Some do so more visibly, others in a more subtle way – though perhaps more interesting and fascinating to an ‘insider’.

The literature often refers to ‘hysterical blindness’.

These people are unable to see properly – to a greater or lesser degree. I recall a teenager with visual problems being referred to our department’s psychological assessment (sent by the ophthalmology department).

However, it is not always accepted that objective problems may have an ‘internal’ cause, and so often either the psychological assessment – deemed offensive – is abandoned, or other solutions are sought that may give the illusion of a way out.

It also happens that some individuals, having been referred for an ‘internal’ assessment by leading Italian centres of excellence, but subsequently rejecting what was suggested to them, turn to private practitioners who offer solutions that are, unfortunately, sometimes harmful.

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, Psychologist and Psychotherapist.

The leper and the creative Touch, which reintegrates him

(Mt 8:1-4)

We ask: how did Jesus practise the Law? His transgressive Touch sums up his life and outcome, teaching and mission.

The marginalised came close to Christ, who did not turn anyone away - openly contravening the Torah's rule (Lev 13) imposing that the unclean should be cast out, and to them to allow themselves to be excluded.

For every rejected from the circle of hypocritical legalists there is only one way out, always: to be healed by God himself. And to invent ways to circumvent the norm [even devout] in order to have a personal relationship - without prior conditions of purity.

One is not saved alone: immaculacy can only be a Gift. But often even those who are called upon to help refuse to deal with - locking the very needy into absurd loneliness.

For the Lord, religious exclusivism is a sordid invention of opportunistic potentates and deviant leaders who distort the face of God to subjugate consciences.

The Father welcomes everyone as sons; Jesus as friends - and He does so by violating [also] certain provisions.

Thus the man of Faith embraces sisters and brothers, excluding the precautionary scrutiny of upstream conditions, moralistic or sacred judgements, and mentalities.

But in that culture it was only the certificate of health issued by the priests (v.4) that meant: “now you can live readmitted to society”.

In the composition of the passage, the evangelist means: it is the encounter with Christ that heals and becomes the free pass even to be accepted in the community - not the precautions, nor the rigmarole of disciplines of the arcane [always directed by those who consider themselves healthy and uninfected].

One does not have to be already perfect and certified, to be admitted or reinstated, and attend church as “not unwelcomed”.

The Saviour misendures marginalization or exclusive realities, through which we would never recover the original innocence they promise.

Instead, it is the Gratis of Jesus that makes one exist unconditionally, with normality and fullness.

He himself obliges the authorities to recognise the fact that we are pure, complete (to live our vocation) and healed; fully empowered to be with others and not to be sent away.

The Message was indeed strange to conventional ideas, but it spread, arousing enthusiasm precisely among those removed from the 'centre' [cf. parallel Mk 1:45]: God has no repugnance.

And where the arrangements on the ground were contrary to its humanising project, something would have to be invented - in order to have a personal relationship, a meeting, a minimum of face-to-face contact.

Not infrequently (unfortunately) without the nerve to transgress the religious precept, the initiative of love that renews the face of the earth cannot be triggered, and death comes back to haunt us, annihilating every yearning for life.

It seems a paradox, but sometimes one does not get back on one's feet otherwise than by circumventing the obstacles of certain provisions, with extreme courage and at the risk of further marginalization.

We see it in the Son who re-lifts us up, a violator of exclusive formal procedures: an 'eccentric divine' who has the power to overcome the most lacerating evil: that which corrodes within and excludes.

Today, too, the Spirit of rehabilitation bursts into our reality, breaking through the outside hard stone tables, in order to ramp through - and finally occupy the centre of our path.

[Friday 12.th wk. in O.T.  June 26, 2026]

Leper and the creative Touch, which reintegrates him

(Mt 8:1-4)

We ask: how did Jesus practise the Law? His transgressive Touch sums up his life and outcome, teaching and mission.

The outcasts came close to Christ, who did not turn anyone away - openly contravening the rule of the Torah (Lev 13) which required the unclean to be cast out.

For every rejectionist from the circle of hypocritical legalists there is only one way out, always: to be healed by God himself. And to invent a way around the law [even devout law] in order to have a personal relationship - without prior conditions of purity.

One is not saved alone: immaculacy can only be given. But often even those who are called to help refuse to take care of it - locking the very needy into absurd loneliness.

For the Lord, religious exclusivism is a squalid invention of opportunistic potentates and deviant leaders, who distort the face of God to subjugate consciences.

The Father welcomes all as sons; Jesus as friends - and He does so by violating [also] certain provisions.

Thus the man of Faith embraces sisters and brothers, excluding the precautionary scrutiny of upstream conditions, moralistic or sacred judgements, and mentalities.

But in that culture it was only the certificate of health issued by the priests (v.4) that meant: 'now you can live readmitted to society'.

In the composition of the pericope, the evangelist means: it is the encounter with Christ that heals and becomes the free pass even to be accepted in the community - not the precautions, nor the rigmarole of the disciplines of the arcane [always directed by those who consider themselves healthy and uninfected].

One does not have to be already perfect and certified to be admitted or reintegrated, and attend church as 'unwelcome'.

The Saviour resents marginalisations or exclusive realities, through which we would never recover the original innocence that they promise.

Instead, it is the Gratis of Jesus that makes one exist unconditionally, with normality and fullness.

He himself obliges the authorities to recognise the fact that we are pure, complete (to live our vocation) and healed; fully enabled to be with others and not to be sent away.

The Message was indeed strange to conventional ideas, but it spread, arousing enthusiasm precisely among those removed from the 'centre' [cf. parallel Mk 1:45]: God has no repugnance.

And where the arrangements on the ground were contrary to his humanising project, something had to be invented - just to have a personal relationship, an encounter, a minimum of face-to-face contact.

Not infrequently (unfortunately) without the nerve to transgress the religious precept, the initiative of love that renews the face of the earth cannot be triggered, and death returns to seize us, annihilating every yearning for life.

It seems a paradox, but sometimes one does not get back on one's feet otherwise than by circumventing the obstacles of certain provisions, with extreme courage and at the risk of further marginalisation.

We see this in the Son who lifts us up, a counter-violator of exclusive formal procedures: an 'eccentric divine' who has the power to overcome the most lacerating evil: that which corrodes within and excludes.

Today too, the Spirit of restoration bursts into our reality, breaking through the hard tables of stone on the outside, in order to break through - and finally occupy the centre of our path.

"The Gospel shows us Jesus coming into contact with the form of disease considered in those days the most serious, so much so as to render the person "unclean" and exclude him from social relations: we speak of leprosy. A special legislation (cf. Lev 13-14) reserved to the priests the task of declaring the person leprous, that is, impure; and equally it was up to the priest to ascertain the cure and readmit the healed sick person to normal life.

While Jesus was preaching in the villages of Galilee, a leper came to him and said: "If you want, you can cleanse me!". Jesus did not escape contact with that man, indeed, moved by intimate participation in his condition, he reached out his hand and touched him - overriding the legal prohibition - and said to him: "I will, be cleansed!" In that gesture and in those words of Christ there is the whole history of salvation, there is embodied the will of God to heal us, to purify us from the evil that disfigures us and ruins our relationships. In that contact between the hand of Jesus and the leper, every barrier is broken down between God and human impurity, between the Sacred and its opposite, certainly not to deny evil and its negative force, but to show that God's love is stronger than all evil, even the most contagious and horrible. Jesus took our infirmities upon himself, he became a 'leper' so that we might be cleansed.A splendid existential commentary on this Gospel is the famous experience of St Francis of Assisi, which he summarises at the beginning of his Testament: "The Lord gave me, Brother Francis, to begin to do penance in this way: when I was in sin, it seemed too bitter for me to see lepers; and the Lord himself led me among them and I showed them mercy. And as I departed from them, what seemed bitter to me was changed to sweetness of mind and body. And then I stayed a little while and went out of the world" (FF, 110). In those lepers, whom Francis met when he was still "in sin," as he says, Jesus was present; and when Francis approached one of them and, overcoming his own disgust, embraced him, Jesus healed him of his leprosy, that is, of his pride, and converted him to the love of God. Here is the victory of Christ, which is our deep healing and our resurrection to new life!"

[Pope Benedict, Angelus of 12 February 2012].

To internalise and live the message:

In your spiritual story, what wins? The Touch of Christ or that of circumstances, mannerisms, chain of command?

What kind is your Touch? Sanitising or clenched fist? Do you know how to place people in their Centre, and thereby make them feel adequate?

The Leper and the Touch

(Mk 1:40-45)

"He who proclaims makes his own the desire of God, who pines for those who are distant. He knows no enemies, only fellow travellers. He does not stand as a master, he knows that the search for God is common and must be shared, that the closeness of Jesus is never denied to anyone" [Pope Francis].

The nameless leper represents us. And the Touch of Jesus sums up his life, teaching and mission.

It manifests itself especially when the environment marginalises the uniqueness of the soul, and a part of us seems impatient, wants the new.

Certain established aspects no longer belong to us. Such moral certainty in the soul is a precious spy, not to be silenced.

In the restless, ill-judged person there is often an external - conditioned - aversion and an intuitive, internal one too.

We are not appeased by the artificial lifestyle we lead, almost forced - nor by the very idea of us.

So we ask: is there any therapy to the mechanisms that do not belong to us, and to those that we instinctively consider in our character, outdated?

Yes, because discomfort can become knowledge: it is a primordial language that can guide us towards change.

Disaffection and the perception of estrangement give rise to new awareness.

Discontent generates shock, dreams of expectation, hence the now unpostponable Exodus.

Where to look for trust and support, to overcome automatisms?

In the Living One Himself, who is all off the rails, and is not afraid to defile Himself - not even with an individual covered in disease and cracks ["leper": v.40].

No one with 'leprosy' or skin disease could approach anyone - least of all a man of God - but Mc wants to emphasise that it is the customary way of understanding religion [and one's 'place'] that makes one unclean.

Legalistic norms marginalise people and guilt them, make them feel dirty inside - inculcating that sense of unworthiness that negatively affects their evolution.

Of course, made transparent in God, we all catch ourselves full of evil. But this must not mark our history, because of fallibility; with a cloak of insuperable identifications.

In this way, perception does not disintegrate into torment. On the contrary, relentlessly shifting gaze presents horizons, suggests paths, triggers even transgressive reactions - at least from the point of view of intransigent indictments, all far removed from real life.

We are challenged even by the banality of concatenations, but our today and tomorrow may not result from our yesterday [a tissue of whatever, predictable condemnations].

In Christ, poverty becomes more than a hope (vv.40-42). So, beware of models!

One does not have to be 'worldly and precise' to have 'then' the right to present oneself to God: his Love is symptomatic and engaging, because it does not wait for the other's perfections first.

The Source of the Free transforms and makes it transparent: it does not modulate generosity on the basis of merits - on the contrary, of needs.

The archaistic religious directive accentuated exclusions - thus chastising the infirm to solitude, to social marginalisation.

The leper had to live apart. But having understood that only the Person of the Lord could make him 'pure', he set aside the Law that had chastised him for vacuous prejudices.

Mk means: do not be afraid to denounce by your own initiative that certain customs are contrary to God's plan.

As a matter of fact, there is no way to get close to Christ (i.e. to have a personal relationship) without each of us inventing a chance that dribbles the usual people around Him - and absolutely does not follow their mentality.The devout or sophisticated environment will try to curb any individual eccentricity.

But in our relationship with God and to realise life, it is decisive that we remain lovers of direct communication.

In every condition we are in eccentric dialogue with the regenerative and superior Source; passionate about the experience of love, which does not exist without freedom.

To help the precarious brother on whom the sentence of impurity hangs - "neighbour" seen as inappellably defiled - even the Son transgresses the religious prescription!

In order to remain undefiled, the sacred precept required to be on guard against lepers - afflicted with an evil that corrodes within, the very image of sin.

That unscrupulous gesture also imposes on us overly considerate people the practice of risk, of demystification.

Indeed, by rule of religion the Lord himself with his Touch becomes a polluted person to be healed and kept at a distance (v.45) - disenfranchised.

However, by reinterpreting the prescriptions of the beginning (v.44) Jesus reveals the face of the Father: he wants each of us to be able to live with others and be accepted, not segregated.

He is saying to his own, who already showed strange tendencies in the first communities: you are obliged to welcome in everything even the misfits, outcasts and wretches, and let them take an active part in the liturgies, the meetings, the joy of the feasts.

The Risen One (v.45) continues to suggest to us, challenging public opinion:

"The certificate of healing I will provide, to the people you make feel guilty. My church leaders are not to endorse, but only to note that I have absorbed the fault of the missing - indeed, it will become astonishment in me'.

A truly lovely proposal, free of forcings and dissociations.

In the attitude of an inverted spirituality - neither selective nor empty - here we are driven to the enthusiastic proclamation of the concrete experience each person has with the person of Christ.

This even if at first it may be lacking, because He does not like to be considered a triumphant king of this world (v.44a).

Beautiful, however, is this subversion: that which unites divine and human traits in an incomparable way.

For each, without hysterical tares.

Subversion that offers us God's purity and entrusts our uncertainty to Him: indeed, the only "scandalous" subversion that brings together many crowds "from all sides" (v.45).

Indeed, the Tao Tê Ching (LXIII) says:

"He plans the difficult in his easy, he works the great in his small: the most difficult undertakings under heaven certainly begin in the small. That is why the saint does not work the great, and thus can complete his greatness'.

This is natural Wisdom, which conveys self-confidence, and will amaze us with flourishes. Complicity of a God who is finally not unpleasant.

Eternal One who makes Himself Present in the very foundation and meaning of the divine-human place on earth, His Vineyard of inapparent.

Thus he can break down the barriers of 'religious' defects, and make everyone feel adequate.

To internalise and live the message:

How do you challenge the public opinion of your time, to foster the practice of equality, freedom, convivial love?

Have you ever marvelled at your shadow sides, which have become precious pearls, of unprecedented value?

Have you encountered passionate guides, who taught you to love your religious flaws?

Ritual purity is completely incidental

The evangelical proclamation of "beatitude", of happiness, retains and increases its full validity today, when Catholics and all men of good will throughout the world are invited to express their solidarity with their leprous brethren with a concrete and active gesture.

Leprosy! The very name, even today, inspires in everyone a sense of dismay and horror. We know from history that this feeling was strongly perceived among the ancients, particularly among the peoples of the East, where, for climatic and hygienic reasons, this disease was very much felt. In the Old Testament (cf. Lev 13-14) we find detailed and minute case histories and legislation for those afflicted by the disease: ancestral fears, the widespread conception of fatality, incurability and contagion, forced the Jewish people to use appropriate preventive measures, through the isolation of the leper, who, considered in a state of ritual impurity, found himself physically and psychologically marginalised and excluded from the family, social and religious events of the chosen people. Moreover, leprosy was a mark of condemnation, as the disease was considered a punishment from God. All that remained was the hope that the power of the Most High would heal the afflicted.

Jesus, in his mission of salvation, often encountered lepers, these beings disfigured in form, deprived of the reflection of the image of the glory of God in the physical integrity of the human body, authentic wrecks and refuse of the society of the time.Jesus' encounter with lepers is the type and model of his encounter with every man, who is healed and brought back to the perfection of the original divine image and readmitted to the communion of God's people. In these encounters Jesus manifested himself as the bearer of new life, of a fullness of humanity long lost. Mosaic legislation excluded, condemned the leper, forbade approaching him, speaking to him, touching him. Jesus, instead, shows himself, first of all, sovereignly free with respect to the ancient law: he approaches, speaks to, touches, and even heals the leper, heals him, restores his flesh to the freshness of that of a child. "Then there came to him a leper," we read in Mark, "begging him on his knees and saying to him, "If you want, you can heal me! Moved with compassion, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him and said, "I will, heal him!" Immediately the leprosy disappeared and he was healed" (Mark 1:40-42; cf. Matth. 8:2-4; Luc. 5:12-15). The same will happen to ten other lepers (cf. Luc. 17: 12-19). "The lepers are healed!", this is the sign Jesus gives for his messianicity to the disciples of John the Baptist, who have come to question him (Matth. 11, 5). And to his disciples Jesus entrusts his own mission: "Preach that the kingdom of heaven is at hand. ., heal the lepers" (Matth. 10: 7 ff.). He also solemnly affirmed that ritual purity is completely ancillary, that the truly important and decisive one for salvation is moral purity, that of the heart, of the will, which has nothing to do with the stains of the skin or of the person (Ibid. 15, 10-20).

But the loving gesture of Christ, who approached the lepers, comforting and healing them, has its full and mysterious expression in the Passion, in which he, tortured and disfigured by the sweat of blood, the scourging, the crowning with thorns, the crucifixion, the exclusionary rejection of the people already benefited, comes to identify himself with the lepers, becomes the image and symbol of them, as the prophet Isaiah had intuited when contemplating the mystery of the Servant of Yahweh: "He has no appearance or beauty.. despised and rejected by men . . like one before whom one covers one's face, ... and we judged him chastened, beaten by God and humiliated" (Is. 53:2-4). But it is precisely from the wounds of Jesus' mangled body and the power of his resurrection, that life and hope spring forth for all men affected by evil and infirmity.

The Church has always been faithful to the mission of proclaiming the Word of Christ, combined with the concrete gesture of solidarity and mercy towards the least. Over the centuries, there has been an overwhelming and extraordinary crescendo of dedication to those afflicted by the most humanly repugnant diseases, and in particular leprosy, whose gloomy presence continued to persist in the eastern and western worlds. History makes it clear that it was the Christians who first became interested and concerned about the problem of lepers. Christ's example had set a school and was fruitful in solidarity, dedication, generosity, and selfless charity.

In the history of Christian hagiography, the episode concerning Francis of Assisi has remained emblematic: he was young, like you; like you he sought joy, happiness, glory; yet he wanted to give total and definitive meaning to his own existence. Among all the horrors of human misery, Francis felt an instinctive repugnance for lepers. But lo and behold, one day he encountered one, while on horseback near Assisi. He felt great revulsion, but, not to fail in his commitment to become a 'knight of Christ', he leapt from the saddle and, as the leper extended his hand to receive alms, Francis handed him money and kissed him (Cf. TOMMASO DA CELANO, Vita seconda di San Francesco d'Assisi, I, V: "Fonti Francescane", I, p. 561, Assisi 1977; S. BONAVENTURA DA BAGNOREGIO, Leggenda maggiore, I, 5: ed. cit, p. 842).

The great expansion of the Missions in modern times has given new impetus to the movement in favour of the leprosy brothers. In all regions of the world the Missionaries have encountered these sick, abandoned, rejected, victims of social and legal disqualifications and discrimination, which degrade man and violate the fundamental rights of the human person. The missionaries, out of love for Christ, have always proclaimed the Gospel even to lepers, they have tried by all means to help them, to cure them with all the possibilities that medicine, often primitive, could offer, but especially they have loved them, freeing them from loneliness and incomprehension and sometimes sharing their lives fully, because they saw in the disfigured body of their brother the image of the suffering Christ. We wish to recall the heroic figure of Father Damien de Veuster, who spontaneously chose and asked his Superiors to be segregated among the lepers of Molokai, to remain with them and to communicate to them the hope of the Gospel, and finally, stricken by the disease, shared the fate of his brothers until his death.

But with him we wish to remember and present to the admiration and example of the world the thousands of missionaries, priests, religious men and women, lay people, catechists, doctors, who have wanted to be friends of the lepers, and whose edifying and exemplary generosity is today a comfort and a spur to us, to continue the human and Christian "fight against leprosy and all leprosy", which is rampant in contemporary society, such as hunger, discrimination, underdevelopment.

[Pope Paul VI, Homily XXV World Leprosy Day 29 January 1978].