(Mk 11:11-25)

The curse spoken by Jesus (vv. 13–14) precedes the expulsion of the money-changers from the Temple, which had become a den of thieves and usurers (vv. 15–17).

It was the spark needed to set in motion the revolution against the systems that were stifling people’s lives.

Christ is not a devoted and obedient son of his culture and devotion; on the contrary, he is an adult who risks being disliked - without inferiority complexes towards the chain of command.

So the barren fig tree in the Gospel passage is not just Israel: above all, it is a figure of the Sanctuary, full of magnificence and devoid of tenderness.

It did not make hearts beat and leap for joy, rather it excluded the very weak.

But it was its twilight (v.11): the Lord preferred to exodus to a small family reality, of only sisters and brothers. In Bethany, there was no such creeping sense of compromise.

In this way, Christ - who with his intimates 'comes out' of the Temple - reveals himself to be the jealous [authentic] guardian of the sacred place, which has unfortunately become a sprawling organism.

Having recognized that oppressive root, with no further escape for conversion - shortly afterwards he will be forced to announce its defeat (13:1-2).

Free and fulminating insight: the Master does not simply proclaim a restyling, as they all did - even the prophets, who were finally content to preach a simple purification.

In short, the Father would have dreamed of the tasty, tender, sugary fruits of love from his sons, yet he had to be content with 'leaves' (v.13).

The transformation of the Temple of Jerusalem into a marketplace reflects the trend of many places of worship in antiquity: as elsewhere, the sacred place had become an external reality.

This is why Jesus proclaims the primacy of personal Faith over formal pious appearances (vv.22-24) where the ruling classes recycled everything.

Those most affected and harassed by the theatrical and disgusting situation were precisely the most insecure strata of the population.

For 'due' offerings, the wretched could turn not to the sellers of herds, but of doves [towards whom the Master's wrath is directed: v.15].

It was the shaky who were the true sacrificial victims of the beautiful official system.

The needy creatures were in fact manipulated like flocks, immolated to the logic of the institution - seized by vigilant customs officers.

After all, a large part of the population of the holy city lived off the Temple's economic inducement [«fig» with inedible fruit].

For this reason, the chosen people have become barren, and so has their characteristic, identity centre - now a withered tree (vv.20-21).

The eyes of the authorities were on ambition. They had everything but the idea of the House of Prayer (v.17) as a living sanctuary and universal meeting place.

Nothing to do with Faith, which is not ideological assent, but critical action, an exceptional and dissimilar gesture; capable of opening the door wide even to severe, sharp, not moneymaking judgements.

It starts from a Vision and appropriates it (v.24), attracting it like a magnet; by actualising and anticipating future. By discovering astonishing and different wonders precisely in what the religiosity of the moment, conformist, may consider impure, illicit, unadorned, inappropriate, unbecoming; unfashionable. And not profitable.

Let alone imagine that a new people with no strategic weight, with no military or diplomatic support, with no real means of deterrence, could supplant the pyramidal, “ideal” and productive mechanisms of fine manners and empire.

And provide a new global Message on the face of God, woman, man, the world... As impossible as imagining a mountain sinking into the sea (v.23).

The same applies to his unrepeatable expression in the prayer (v.24): a coup de main, even scratching - which follows the Hearing of a God who reveals himself in the soul of his 'envoy', without putting on too much of a show.

From the intimately amicable adherence derives a first-person involvement and a special sensitivity, which become intense Dialogue, Image-Vision, growing Discovery; anticipatory Action.

Only from a mind realized according to instinct and vocation will spontaneous forgiveness then arise (vv.25-26): because the gaze of one who has let in unexpected energies has already moved far beyond the spite received. Or indeed, the latter has been its fruitful matrix.

Faith and Prayer are therefore not intimist and swampy realities, as in normalised, epidermic and banal pious life, but propulsive of great - even epochal - novelties.

Here is drawn the comparison between Temple and Person, doctrine and Faith, discipline and behaviour, presumption and authentic Encounter.

Comparison analogous to the still all-current one: between institution and uniqueness, representation and reality, flag and generous 'sacrament'.

For the biblical faith - acutely personal - what is really worthwhile is to discover God revealing himself on one's own path, even made up of vile and opposing elements.

Hence giving in and allowing oneself to be led - not… representing it with spineless ideas, or with magnificent, epidermal, empty displays.

[Friday 8th wk. in O.T.  May 29, 2026]

(Mark 11:11–26): The barren Fig tree, the driving out of the usurers money-changers, Faith as a magnet, Prayer, Forgiveness: a Space of Encounter

The curse spoken by Jesus (vv. 13–14) precedes the expulsion of the money-changers from the Temple, which had become a den of thieves and usurers (vv. 15–17).

It was the spark needed to set in motion the revolution against the sanctimonious institutions that were stifling people’s lives.

Christ is not a devout and obedient son of his culture and religion, but an adult who risks being disliked – without any inferiority complex towards the established traditional chain of command.

Thus, the barren fig tree in this Gospel passage is not merely Israel: above all, it is a symbol of the Sanctuary – brimming with magnificence yet devoid of tenderness. It did not make hearts beat faster or leap with joy; rather, it excluded (precisely) the weak.

But it was its twilight (v.11): the Lord prefers to make an exodus towards a small family setting, where he could breathe freely; a place of only brothers and sisters. In Bethany, that creeping sense of compromise did not prevail!

Only within that fundamental and dialectical ray of light, by no means immature, does Christ – who leaves the Temple with his own – reveal himself as the jealous (authentic) guardian of the sacred place, which has sadly become a sprawling organisation.

Having recognised that oppressive root – with no further chance of conversion – shortly afterwards he will be forced to announce its downfall (13:1–2). A free and striking insight: the Master does not merely proclaim a makeover, as everyone else did – even the prophets, who ultimately contented themselves with preaching a (mere) purification.

In short: the Father would have hoped for the tasty, tender and sweet fruits of love from his people, but he had to be content with the leaves (v.13) which ended up covering up repugnant realities – starting precisely with the class of profiteers in the House of God.

The transformation of the Temple in Jerusalem into a marketplace reflects the state of affairs in many places of worship in antiquity: just as elsewhere.

For this reason, Jesus proclaims the primacy of personal Faith over formal devotional appearances (vv. 22–24), where the ruling classes recycle everything (and force the voiceless to swallow their squalid fare).

Those most affected and oppressed by the ambiguous aspects of this theatrical and disgusting situation were precisely the insecure strata of the population – who, for the ‘required’ offerings, could turn not to the sellers of livestock, but to those selling doves (towards whom the Master’s wrath is directed: v.15).

It was the vulnerable who were the true sacrificial victims of the fine official religious system: those brainwashed by the fear of God and by fears of their own unworthiness (instilled drop by drop by self-serving false guides).

The needy were like flocks sacrificed to the logic of the institution—seized by vigilant customs officers—solely in the service and to the extent, always formally indirect, of their own (unfaithful) sustenance.

The merchants were the linchpin and the primary targeted accomplices of the entire supply chain that the priests skimmed off, established and sanctified out of self-interest. After all, a large part of the population of the holy city lived off the economic spin-offs of the Temple (‘fig tree’ bearing inedible fruit).

In short: ancient devotion and its sordid business of ambiguous trafficking milked and fleeced the lives of the naive masses; and together with obsessions over failure to fulfil one’s duties, it gave the people no respite (weighed down, unfulfilled, unhappy).

(Faced with the titanic, artificial efforts of certain proposals, even ecclesiastical ones, young people today immediately realise that expending so much energy to struggle against one’s own personal vocational character, only to become a functionary of the sacred or one of its supporters, is not worth it).

For this reason, the chosen people have become barren, and so has the core of their identity – now a withered tree (vv. 20–21).

The authorities’ gaze was fixed on ambitions – they had everything except the idea of the house of prayer (v. 17) as a living sanctuary and a place of universal encounter.

There Jesus realised (it was obvious) that his people had lost the fruitfulness to which they had been called by the Father’s plan – once and for all.

A barrenness linked to established mechanisms, regarded as an inalienable right acquired by the caste of ‘managers’ without any renewal.

This has nothing to do with genuine Faith, which is not ideological assent, but an exceptional and unconventional relationship and gesture: it throws the door wide open even to severe, cutting, unprofitable judgements.

It starts from a Vision and takes it on board (v.24), drawing it in like a magnet: actualising and anticipating the future; uncovering astonishing, eccentric wonders precisely in what conformist religion considers impure, illicit, unadorned, inappropriate, and improper.

Non-remunerative.

Let alone imagine that a people without strategic weight, devoid of military or diplomatic support, lacking any real means of deterrence, could supplant the pyramidal, ‘ideal’ and productive mechanisms of tradition and empire.

And to provide a new global Message on the face of God and humanity... As impossible as imagining a mountain sinking of its own accord into the sea (v.23).

By exploiting and impoverishing the vulnerable, any opportunistic regime or disembodied religion shows that it does not love what is human: the poverty of the simple.

Feeling no passion of the soul and perceiving no impulse of the heart to engage on behalf of the needy, no one ventures any longer into the adventure of Faith-Love in its entirety – a gamble that spills over into extravagant behaviour, yet nonetheless activates another realm.

Faith that risks Love is this: nothing soft – even open dispute with the leaders of ritual officialdom. It is not the dullness of the accommodating, saccharine diplomat, mannered, never rude, who says and does not say, seems but does not act.

And the same applies to its unique expression in prayer (v.24): a bold move – even a biting one – that follows the Listening to a God who reveals himself in the soul of the envoy, without staging too many external spectacles.

From this deeply friendly connection springs a personal involvement and a particular sensitivity, which become intense Dialogue, Image-Vision, growing Discovery, and proactive Action.

Only from a mind shaped by instinct and vocation will spontaneous forgiveness then arise (vv. 25–26): for the gaze of one who has allowed unexpected energies to enter is already shifted far beyond the spite received, or indeed the latter has itself been its fertile matrix.

Faith and Prayer are therefore not (as in normalised, mundane piety) intimate and stagnant realities, but rather the driving force behind great—even epoch-making—novelties.

Jesus’ final stay in Jerusalem brings with it the sacred and inviolable words of his critical Testament, and of the judgement upon the unfaithful (yet observant) land of Judea – disloyal to its own former calling.

Even after his Resurrection, Jesus will choose Galilee (16:7).

The symbols of saved life (the life of the saved) for all the peoples of the earth have become sterile, shutting themselves away in their own world of prescriptions, bearing no delicate fruit – save that of appearances.

Indeed, they even prevent access to the ‘house of prayer for all nations’ (v. 17).

It is the comparison between Temple and Person, doctrine and Faith, discipline and behaviour, presumption and authentic Encounter.

A comparison analogous to the one that remains entirely relevant today between institution and uniqueness, representation and reality, flag and ‘sacrament’ (generous).

The Tao Te Ching (XLIX) says: ‘The Sage has no unchanging heart: his heart is the heart of the hundred surnames (...) The Sage stands in the world all fearful, and for the world he makes his heart promiscuous.’

In commentary, Master Ho-shang Kung adds: ‘The Sage makes his heart promiscuous and muddies it, as if he were stupid and ignorant.’

For biblical faith – acutely personal – what truly matters is discovering God who reveals himself on one’s own path (even one made up of base and opposing elements).

Therefore, to yield and allow oneself to be led – not to represent him through magnificent yet empty displays.

Liberation and Personalisation: the difference between religiosity and Faith

Little House of God or place of business? No more haggling

(Lk 19:45–48)

    Jesus noted that an entire ambiguous structure of sin had developed around the activities taking place within the Temple precincts.

The Sanctuary’s commercial greed was not even concealed – indeed, it was right there in plain sight.

But the priestly vision of holy worship and the people’s hopes for a life of fulfilment were at odds.

The same applied to the aims of the lawyers and scribes, who willingly gathered in particular under Solomon’s Portico [on the other side, to the east] to ‘offer’ their advice.

The exclusive function of fostering an encounter with the presence of God was utterly undermined.

The sacred area had become a den of shrewd merchants, businesspeople perpetually on the prowl, always intent on exchanging currency.

This was with the approval of the ruling Sadducee faction, who could not resist the temptation to pull the strings of the lucrative trade.

In driving out the false friends of the merciful Father, these parasites of religiosity, the Lord is not so much concerned with restoring the purity of the Place, nor with patching up and reviving the lustre of the original, austere worship – as the Prophets had indeed desired.

He renders a holy service not to the ancient God (as in religions) but to the people – rendered by that system [or tangle] utterly unaware of their own vocational dignity: merely chained, milked, and shorn.

In fact, the Zealots aimed to restore the purity of the rites. They imagined that they could somehow recover their coherence.

The Essenes, on the other hand, had completely abandoned the Temple. They considered the shameful situation to be beyond redemption.

John the Baptist had made the same break.

Although of priestly lineage, he preached to the people the forgiveness of sins through a conversion of life, not through the sacrifices of the liturgy [only in Jerusalem].

The true Angel of the Covenant, however, was definitively uncompromising, far more radical than all of them!

Indeed, according to the very first Christians, who still frequented the Temple—the place of encounter with God, the land from which His Love radiated—it was no longer bound to material aspects.

Nor was it religious in itself; much less was it steeped in doctrinal observances, moralistic codes, or one-sided worldviews.

In this way, for us too, the divine Presence and its Communion are not to be found in mythical purity, in ancient magnificence, in perfectionist endeavours – or in keeping up with the latest trends.

Service to God is an honour for women and men just as they are and wherever they are: sacred respect springs from a Gift that already permeates our lives. Opinions are of no use.

The unknown Friend wishes to dwell within us not to take possession, but to merge with us and expand our relational and qualitative capacities. Our own, not those of others or as an afterthought.

In Christ, from obedience to more or less outdated rules [even if they were to be future-oriented], we move towards a style of personal likeness. That which builds living sanctuaries.

Honour to the Father is realised not in the details or in a pre-established esprit de corps, but in the sons and daughters, in any case – if they live in brotherhood.

This happens especially when they assimilate Jesus’ Teaching [on Grace] (v.47).

Thus, over time, they learn conviviality from Him, and together they are encouraged to engage in dialogue with their exceptional and unique Vocation, which captivates because it truly corresponds.

And this inner conviction is the sole, incomparable and precious energy of transformative power – which leads one not to retreat from oneself, from one’s own exceptionality, nor to overlook the reality of one’s brothers and sisters.

Rather, it leads one to make an Exodus, to explore new conditions of being, to transfigure perception into blissful action.

Only from this does coexistence arise.

And Sin remains indeed a deviation, but no longer a transgression of the law – rather an inability to respond to the Call that characterises, unleashes and empowers a surprising uniqueness of Relationship.

The first Tabernacle of God is therefore humanity itself, its beating heart – not a space of stones and bricks, fixed, delimited, or fanciful… to be adorned with superimposed embellishments.

Upon entering Jerusalem, the Master takes possession of the heavenly House – which is not the Temple, but the People.

For this reason, He drives out of the imaginative sacredness instilled in the naive precisely the most miseducational aspects of the festival – and especially teaches the infirm to feel already adequate!

Incredible: Christ changes the mental atmosphere of each person.

The true Lord does not teach us to don habitual, abstract or formal armour – acceptable to those around us but distant from ourselves, from creatures.

Rather, He urges us not to stifle our true nature with the cloaks of convention [whether outdated or not] according to which ‘it is never enough’.

Behind our essential character lies a fruitful, unique, singular Calling; with visual and social implications we do not yet know.

Just as we are – exactly as we are – we are fine.

There is no need to exorcise anything from our deepest being, which spontaneously manifests its suppressed discomforts and joyful correspondences, even in outward eccentricities.

Rather, any conventional, superficial domestication – whether for adaptation or cunning – stifles the core of the Call by Name – the authentic Guide, the impulse of the Spirit.

Our inner world must not be hysterically regarded as a dangerous stranger to be reconfigured.

Our innate roots and natural energy have the right to flourish and prevail over common manners or ideas: they are an experiential trace of the Divine.

In them lies a Personal bond.

The Lord’s claim is immediately met with hostility from the pompous, who are concerned with the give-and-take of that mannerist charade.

They portray him as unbalanced, to be eliminated at once: a most dangerous dreamer, because he activates and uplifts souls, rather than the structure of mediation.

Here is the condemnation meted out by society’s ‘great ones’: the outcome of every operation of truth.

Thus, attempts are made to stifle any endeavour towards the emancipation of those oppressed in spirit, at the core of their being – whether out of fear of God or an obsession with unworthiness.

But in the present reality, which is hot on our heels, the Risen One continues to demystify the excessive concern for identified places, the “high places” of a settled and material nature.

With their implications that do not nourish fully and stably – on the contrary, they become a worm.

In short, we must change our approach.

He Himself is the essential point of worship of the Eternal One.

In this light of the Person within His Person, each of us can embrace proposals that are not imposed by others or intrusive; that will not become a burden.

And the authentic prestige of the Church will be to echo the Proclamation that truly liberates and delights.

Obviously provoking the same commercial tensions; a litmus test of our divine action.

Through the work of apostles frightened by the brusque manner of the authorities, and perhaps themselves prone to compromise – the magnificent sanctuary that Jesus had explicitly defined as a den of thieves will once again become the centre of the ecclesial assembly [Lk 24:53; Acts 5:12].

It will be the tragic history of the holy city, rather than a burning conscience, that will most effectively cause its excessive importance to wane.

Even today: the phantasmagorical ancient pinnacle is becoming a periphery, it is decaying. And we struggle to find ourselves.

An opportunity not to be missed to proceed in a living and singular way, in harmony with an ever-new teaching on unprecedented Love, which matches our pace.

It is the burning Appeal of ‘the Mount’, centred on passion: precisely on Desire.

No longer a stern rebuke to the ‘no’s’ of grand appearances – but finally Listening to the Voice within the soul, which amazes (v.48).

The authentic sacredness of the temple.

Jesus’ teaching in that venerable place is presented in Luke 19:47 as enduring: ‘he was teaching every day’ [Greek text].

Through the Word that does not remain on high but shares in our humanity (finally opened wide), He finds His Temple again today. 

A dwelling cleared of ancient and new hunters.

He desires only his People – women and men freed from the den of thieves [Jer 7:11; Lk 19:46] which still attempts to penetrate the nature of our relationships.

Paraphrasing the encyclical Fratelli Tutti (no. 226), we gladly reiterate with Pope Francis: ‘ there is no longer any room for empty diplomacy, for dissimulation, double-talk, concealment, or polite manners that hide the (irritating) reality’ of those in business with God.

The rubbish must be cleared away. The stakes are too high and too personal.

We no longer haggle over what does not correspond, even from a cultural, social and spiritual point of view.

To internalise and live out the message:

Do you still need set times, designated places, acts of atonement and propitiation, or do you feel a living relationship with God?

What is your House of Prayer?

Churches of service, not supermarkets.

The most important temple of God is our heart

‘Churches of service, churches of grace, just as salvation was free, and not “supermarket churches”’: Pope Francis did not mince his words in highlighting the relevance today of Jesus’ act of driving the merchants from the temple. And ‘vigilance, service and grace’ are the three key words he emphasised during the Mass celebrated on Friday 24 November at Santa Marta.

“Both readings in today’s liturgy,” explained the Pontiff, “speak to us of the temple, indeed of the purification of the temple.” Drawing on the passage from the First Book of Maccabees (4:36–37, 52–59), the Pope noted how “after the defeat of the forces sent by Antiochus Epiphanes to paganise the people, Judas Maccabeus and his brothers sought to purify the temple—that temple where pagan sacrifices had taken place—and to restore the spiritual beauty of the temple, the sacredness of the temple”. For this reason, “the people were joyful”. Indeed, the biblical text states that “the joy of the people was very great, for the disgrace of the pagans had been wiped out”. Thus, the Pope added, “the people rediscover their law, they rediscover their very being; the temple once again becomes the place of encounter with God”.

“Jesus does the same when he drives out those who were selling in the temple: he purifies the temple,” said Francis, referring to the Gospel passage from Luke (19:45–48). In doing so, the Lord restores the temple “as it ought to be: pure, for God alone and for the people who come to pray.” But, for our part, “how do we purify the temple of God?” The answer, said the Pope, lies in “three words that can help us understand. First: vigilance; second: service; third: gratuitousness”.

“Vigilance”, therefore, is the first word suggested by the Pontiff: “It is not only the physical temple, the buildings, the temples that are God’s temples: the most important temple of God is our heart, our soul” . So much so, the Pope pointed out, that St Paul tells us: “You are the temple of the Holy Spirit.” Therefore, Francis added, “the Holy Spirit dwells within us.”

And it is precisely “for this reason that the first word” proposed by Francis is, in fact, “vigilance.” From this arise some questions for an examination of conscience: “What is happening in my heart? What is happening within me? How do I behave towards the Holy Spirit? Is the Holy Spirit just one more of the many idols I have within me, or do I care for the Holy Spirit? Have I learnt to be vigilant within myself, so that the temple in my heart may be for the Holy Spirit alone?’

Hence, then, the importance of ‘purifying the temple, the inner temple, and being vigilant’, the Pope affirmed. With an explicit invitation: “Be careful, be mindful: what is happening in your heart? Who comes, who goes… What are your feelings, your thoughts? Do you speak with the Holy Spirit? Do you listen to the Holy Spirit?” It is, therefore, a matter of “being vigilant: being mindful of what is happening in our temple, within us”.

The “second word is service,” the Pontiff continued. “Jesus,” he recalled, “makes us understand that he is present in a special way in the temple of those in need.” And “he says it clearly: he is present in the sick, those who suffer, the hungry, the imprisoned; he is present there.” Regarding the word “service” too, Francis suggested some questions to ask oneself: “Do I know how to guard that temple? Do I care for the temple through my service? Do I draw near to help, to clothe, to console those in need?”

“St John Chrysostom,” Francis noted, “rebuked those who made many offerings to adorn and beautify the physical temple but did not care for the needy: he rebuked them and said: ‘No, this is not right; service comes first, then adornment.’” In short, we are called to “purify the temple that is others.” And to do this well, we must ask ourselves: “How do I help to purify that temple?” The answer is simple: “Through service, through service to the needy. Jesus himself says that he is present there.” And “he is present there,” the Pope explained, “and when we approach to offer service, to help, we resemble Jesus who is there within.”

In this regard, Francis confided that he had “seen a beautiful icon of Simon of Cyrene helping Jesus carry the cross: looking closely at that icon, Simon of Cyrene had the same face as Jesus”. Therefore, “if you guard that temple which is the sick person, the prisoner, the needy and the hungry, your heart too will be more like that of Jesus.” Precisely “for this reason, guarding the temple means service.”

“The first word, vigilance,” the Pontiff summarised, expresses something that “happens within us.” Whilst “the second word” leads us towards “service to the needy: that is to purify the temple”. And “the third word that comes to mind,” he continued, “when reading the Gospel is gratuitousness”. In the Gospel passage, Jesus says: “My house shall be a house of prayer. But you have made it a den of thieves”. Keeping these words of the Lord in mind, the Pope said, “how often do we enter a church with sadness — think of a parish, a bishop’s residence — and we do not know whether we are in the house of God or in a supermarket: there are businesses there, there is even a price list for the sacraments” and “gratuitousness is lacking”.

But “God has saved us freely; he has not made us pay anything,” the Pontiff insisted, urging us to help ensure “that our churches, our parishes, are not supermarkets: that they are houses of prayer, that they are not dens of thieves, but that they offer free service.” Of course, the Pope added, some might object that “we need money to maintain the buildings and we also need money to feed the priests and catechists”. The Pope’s response is clear: “Give freely and God will do the rest; God will provide what is lacking”.

“To guard the temple,” Francis stated, “means this: vigilance, service and generosity.” First of all, “vigilance in the temple of our heart: what happens there, being attentive because it is the temple of the Holy Spirit.” Then, “service to the needy,” he repeated, also suggesting a reading of chapter 25 of the Gospel of Matthew. Service also “to the hungry, the sick, the imprisoned, and those in need, for Christ is there”, always with the certainty that “the person in need is the temple of Christ”.

Finally, the Pope concluded, the “third” point is “gratuitousness in the service offered in our churches: churches of service, churches that are free, just as salvation was free, and not ‘supermarket churches’”.

[Pope Francis, Santa Marta, in L’Osservatore Romano 25/11/2017]

During his entry into Jerusalem, the people paid homage to Jesus as the Son of David with the words of the pilgrims of Psalm 118[117]: "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!" (Mt 21: 9). He then arrived at the temple. There, however, in the place that should have been taken up by the encounter between God and man, he found livestock merchants and money-changers who occupied this place of prayer with their commerce. Certainly, the animals on sale were destined to be burned as sacrifices in the temple, and since in the temple it was impossible to use coins that bore the likeness of the Roman emperors, who were in opposition to the true God, they had to be exchanged for coins that did not show the idolatrous image. All this, however, could have taken place elsewhere: the place where this was now occurring should have been, in accordance with its destined purpose, the atrium of pagans. Indeed, the God of Israel was precisely the one God of all peoples. And although pagans did not enter, so to speak, into the Revelation, they could however, in the atrium of faith, join in the prayer to the one God. The God of Israel, the God of all people, had always been awaiting their prayers too, their seeking, their invocations. Instead, commerce was prevailing - dealings legalized by the competent authority which, in its turn, profited from the merchants' earnings. The merchants acted correctly, complying with the law in force, but the law itself was corrupt. "Covetousness... is idolatry", the Letter to the Colossians says (3: 5). This was the idolatry Jesus came up against in the face of which he cites Isaiah: "My house shall be called a house of prayer" (Mt 21: 13; cf. Is 56: 7), and Jeremiah: "But you make it a den of robbers" (Mt 21: 13; cf. Jer 7: 11). Against the wrongly interpreted order, Jesus with his prophetic gesture defends the true order which is found in the Law and the Prophets. 

Today, all this must give us, as Christians, food for thought. Is our faith sufficiently pure and open so that starting from it "pagans", the people today who are seeking and who have their questions, can intuit the light of the one God, associate themselves in the atriums of faith with our prayers and, with their questions, perhaps also become worshippers? Does the awareness that greed is idolatry enter our heart too and the praxis of our life? Do we not perhaps in various ways let idols enter even the world of our faith? Are we disposed to let ourselves be ceaselessly purified by the Lord, letting him expel from us and the Church all that is contrary to him? 

In the temple's purification, however, it was a matter of more than fighting abuses. A new time in history was foretold. What Jesus had announced to the Samaritan woman concerning her question about true worship is now beginning: "The hour is coming, and now is, when true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for such the Father seeks to worship him" (Jn 4: 23). The time when animals were sacrificed to God was over. Animal sacrifices were only a substitute, a nostalgic gesture for the true way to worship God. The Letter to the Hebrews on the life and work of Jesus uses a sentence from Psalm 40[39]: "Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body have you prepared for me" (Heb 10: 5). Christ's body, Christ himself, enters to take the place of bloody sacrifices and food offerings. Only "love to the end", only love for human beings given totally to God is true worship, true sacrifice. Worshipping in spirit and truth means adoring in communion with the One who is Truth; adoring in communion with his Body, in which the Holy Spirit reunites us.

[Pope Benedict, Palm Sunday homily, 16 March 2008]

I have spoken of bearing fruit, and here too the Gospel comes to my aid, when it presents – in a reading we encountered recently in the sacred liturgy – the parable of the barren fig tree, which is threatened with being cut down (Lk 13:6–9). Man must bear fruit in time, that is, during his earthly life, and not only for himself, but also for others, for the society of which he is an integral part. However, this activity of his in time, precisely because he is ‘contained’ within time, must not cause him to forget or neglect his other essential dimension, that of being oriented towards eternity: man, therefore, must simultaneously bear fruit for eternity as well.
And if we remove this perspective from man, he will remain a barren fig tree.
On the one hand, he must ‘fill time with himself’ in a creative manner, for the otherworldly dimension certainly does not exempt him from the duty to act responsibly and creatively, participating effectively and in collaboration with all other people in the building of society according to the concrete demands of the historical moment in which he finds himself living. This is the Christian meaning of man’s ‘historicity’. On the other hand, this commitment of faith immerses the young person in a contemporary world which, in a certain sense, carries within itself a vision contrary to Christianity.
This anti-vision has the following characteristics, which I shall outline briefly.
People today often lack a sense of the transcendent, of supernatural realities, of something that surpasses them. People cannot live without something that goes beyond them, that surpasses them. People live their lives fully if they are aware of this, if they must always surpass themselves, transcend themselves. This transcendence is deeply inscribed in the human constitution of the person.
Thus, in the contemporary anti-vision, as I have said, the meaning of human existence comes to be ‘determined’ within a materialistic conception in relation to various issues, such as those of justice, work, and so on: from this spring the manifold conflicts between social classes or between national entities, in which various forms of collective selfishness manifest themselves. It is necessary, however, to overcome this closed and, ultimately, alienating conception, setting against it that broader horizon which right reason, and even more so the Christian faith, already allow us to glimpse. There, in fact, problems find a fuller solution; there justice is realised in all its aspects; there human relationships, free from every form of selfishness, come to correspond to the dignity of the human person, upon whom the face of God shines.

From all this emerges the importance of that choice which you young people must make! Make it with Christ, following him courageously and adhering to his teaching, aware of the eternal love which has found its supreme expression and its definitive witness in him. In saying this to you, I certainly cannot ignore the obstacles and dangers—unfortunately neither minor nor infrequent—that you face in the various settings of today’s social context. But you must not allow yourselves to be led astray; you must never give in to the temptation—subtle and therefore all the more insidious—to think that such a choice might run counter to the formation of your personality. I have no hesitation in stating that this view is entirely false: to believe that human life, in the process of its growth and maturation, can be ‘diminished’ by the influence of faith in Christ is an idea to be rejected.
The exact opposite is true: just as civilisation would be impoverished and incomplete without the presence of the religious dimension, so the life of the individual, and particularly that of the young person, would be incomplete and lacking without a strong experience of faith, drawn from direct contact with Christ crucified and risen. Christianity, faith—believe me, young people—gives completeness and fulfilment to our personality: centred as it is on the figure of Christ, true God and true man and, as such, the Redeemer of mankind, it opens you up to the appreciation, understanding and enjoyment of all that is great, beautiful and noble in the world and in humanity. Adherence to Christ does not stifle, but expands and exalts the ‘impulses’ that the wisdom of God the Creator has placed within your souls. Adherence to Christ does not dampen, but strengthens the sense of moral duty, giving you the desire and the satisfaction of committing yourselves to ‘something that is truly worthwhile’, giving you, I repeat, the desire and satisfaction of committing yourselves in this way, and fortifying the spirit against the tendencies, all too often surfacing in the youthful soul today, to “let oneself go” – either in the direction of an irresponsible and indolent abdication, or along the path of blind and murderous violence. Above all – always remember this – adherence to Christ will be a source of authentic joy, of an intimate joy that the world cannot give and which – as he himself foretold to his disciples – no one will ever be able to take from you (cf. Jn 16:22), even whilst you are in the world.
This joy, as the fruit of an Easter faith and – as I said this morning – the fruit of ‘contact’ with Christ, as an ineffable gift of his Spirit, is meant to be the culmination of my conversation with you today. I wish to focus on this word “joy”. I wish to focus on this word because we are living through Easter Week. Christianity is joy, and those who profess it and let it shine through in their lives have a duty to bear witness to it, to communicate it and to spread it around them. That is why I have mentioned these two figures. Don Bosco: I went to visit his tomb once again, and he seemed to me to be ever joyful, ever smiling. And Pier Giorgio: he was a young man of infectious joy, a joy that overcame even the many difficulties of his life, for youth is always also a time of testing one’s strength.
As young people, you are preparing to build not only your own future, but also that of future generations: what will you pass on to them? You must ask yourselves this question. Only material goods, perhaps with the addition of a richer culture, more advanced science, and more sophisticated technology? Or, in addition to this, indeed even before this, do you not wish to pass on that higher perspective, to which I have alluded, to those spiritual goods known as love and freedom? True love, true freedom, I tell you, for these great words—love and freedom—can easily be exploited. They can easily be exploited. In our time we are witnesses to a terrible exploitation of these words: love and freedom. We must rediscover the true meaning of these two words: love and freedom. I say to you: you must return to the Gospel. You must return to the school of Christ. You will then convey these spiritual values: a sense of justice in all human relationships, and the promotion and safeguarding of peace. And I say to you again, these are words that have been exploited, many, many times exploited. We must always return to the school of Christ, to rediscover the true, full, profound meaning of these words. The necessary foundation for these values lies solely in the possession of a sure and sincere faith, a faith that embraces God and man, man in God. Where there is God and where there is Jesus Christ, his Son, such a foundation is firm; it is deep, it is very deep. There is no more fitting, no deeper dimension to give to this word ‘human being’, to this word ‘love’, to this word ‘freedom’, to these words ‘peace’ and ‘justice’: there is no other, there is none but Christ. So, returning always to this school, here lies the search for those precious gifts that you young people must pass on to future generations, to the world of tomorrow; with him it will be easier and cannot fail to succeed.
As I am about to take my leave of you, I wish to lift you up to this vision of transcendence and beauty, so that your Christian life may gain strength and grow ‘from virtue to virtue’ (Ps 83:8) and flourish – for you are young, you must flourish – flourish in works and, even for earthly society, be the prelude and promise of a more humane and, therefore, more serene future. This is the greatest imperative of our age, which is becoming sad, and which will be even sadder, even more tragic, if it does not see that perspective which only you young people can give to it, to our century, to our generation, to our Italy, to our world!
[Pope John Paul II, Address to young people, 13 April 1980]

‘Three ways of living life’. Pope Francis outlined these during Mass at Santa Marta on Friday 29 May, drawing on the liturgical passage from the Gospel of Mark (11:11–25), which presents three attitudes linked to three figures: that of the ‘fig tree’, that of the ‘money-changers in the temple’ and that of the ‘man of faith’.
Already on Thursday 28, during the morning celebration, Pope Francis had outlined the characteristics of three types of Jesus’ disciples — those “who did not hear the blind man’s cry for help”, those who “drove people away from Jesus” and, finally, “those who helped people in need to go to Jesus” — inviting everyone to examine their consciences to identify the group with which they could identify. The following day, he returned to a similar reflection, inspired by the Gospel passage from Mark.
The fig tree, he explained in this regard, “represents barrenness, that is, a barren life, incapable of giving anything”. A life, in other words, that bears no fruit, “incapable of doing good”, because that sort of person “lives for themselves; complacent, selfish”, and does not want “problems”. In the Gospel passage, Jesus curses the fig tree because it is barren, “because it did not do its part to bear fruit”, thus becoming the symbol of “the person who does nothing to help, who always lives for themselves, so that they lack nothing”.
Such people, the Pope continued, eventually “become neurotic”. And “Jesus condemns the spiritual barrenness, the spiritual selfishness” of those who think: “I live for myself: let nothing be lacking for me, let others fend for themselves!”
Then there is a second “way of living life”, and that is that of “the exploiters, the money-changers in the temple”. They “even exploit God’s holy place to do business: they exchange coins, sell animals for sacrifice, and even have a sort of trade union amongst themselves to defend themselves”. A practice “not only tolerated, but also permitted by the priests of the temple”. To make this clearer, the Pontiff recalled another ‘very ugly’ scene from the Bible, which describes ‘those who turn religion into a business’: it is the story of the priest whose sons ‘urged people to make offerings and earned a great deal, even from the poor’. For these, ‘Jesus does not mince his words’ and says to the merchants in the temple: ‘ My house shall be called a house of prayer. But you have made it a den of thieves!’ A harsh passage, on which the Pope dwelled: people ‘went on pilgrimage there to ask for the Lord’s blessing, to make a sacrifice’ and right there ‘those people were exploited’; the priests ‘did not teach them to pray, did not give them catechesis… . It was a den of thieves’. They were not interested in whether there was true devotion: ‘pay up, come in…’. They performed the rites ‘without true devotion’. From this, Francis moved on to invite reflection: ‘I don’t know if it would do us good to consider whether something like this is happening somewhere among us’: that is, ‘using God’s things for one’s own profit’.
Finally, there is a third type, and that is ‘what Jesus recommends, namely the life of faith’. To describe it, the Pontiff returned to the reading from the Gospel of Mark and recalled how, when the disciples saw the fig tree withered right down to its roots ‘because Jesus had cursed it’, Peter said to him: ‘Master, look! The fig tree you cursed has withered!’ And Jesus, seizing the opportunity to point out the right ‘way of life’, replied: ‘Have faith in God. If anyone were to say to this mountain, “Be lifted up and thrown into the sea”, without doubting in his heart, but believing that what he says will happen, it will happen. Whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.’ So, the Pope explained, ‘exactly what we ask for in faith will happen: this is the way of life of faith.’
Someone might ask: ‘Father, what must I do for this?’ For Francis, the answer is simple: “Ask the Lord to help you do good things, but with faith.” Simple, but with “one condition” dictated by Jesus himself: “When you begin to pray asking for this, if you have anything against anyone, forgive them. It is the only condition, so that your Father in heaven may also forgive you your sins.”
Living, therefore, “the faith to help others, to draw closer to God”, the faith “that works miracles”, is the third way of life suggested. The Pontiff has therefore summarised the three possible paths open to the Christian: the first is that of the ‘barren person’ who does not wish to ‘bear fruit in life’ and spends ‘a comfortable, peaceful, trouble-free life and then departs’: the way of those who do not bother to do good. Then there are those “who exploit others, even in the house of God; the exploiters, the temple profiteers”, those whom Jesus “drives out” with a whip. Finally, there is the way of those who have “trust in God” and know that what they ask of the Lord in faith “will come to pass”. And it is precisely this “that Jesus advises us: the way of Jesus”, which can be followed on one condition alone: “forgive, forgive others, so that your Father may forgive you for so many things”.
In conclusion, the Pope invited everyone to ask the Lord — “in the sacrifice of the Eucharist” — to teach “each one of us, the Church”, never to fall “into sterility and profiteering”.
[Pope Francis, homily at Santa Marta, L’Osservatore Romano 30.05.15]

(Mk 10:46-52)

The passage in Mk is the agile fruit of the interweaving of a catechesis explaining the immediately preceding passage [the Apostles' aims] and the teaching on the very first forms of baptismal liturgy reserved for the new believers, called 'photismòi-enlightened' [those who from the darkness of pagan life finally opened their eyes to the Light].

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

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

What, then, is needed to see with the perception of God, beyond appearances, and to lift oneself up from a grey life of handouts, literally on the ground? How to heal the vision of those who are disoriented?

Bartimaeus [verbatim, the 'son of the valued one'] represents us: he is not a free man, capable of activating himself - but influenced by a frantic search for prestige and recognition.

The «son of the honoured man» is not biologically blind, but one who adjusts himself haphazardly. He is unable to «look up» [the Greek key-verb in vv.51-52 is aná-blépein] because he does not cultivate ideals; he is content with what the environment around him grants, which anaesthetizes him.

If one finds oneself at this level of myopia, it is better to 'lift one's gaze' bent over one's navel for ridiculous and short-sighted things.

Bartimaeus is a man of habit, he is accompanied to the same places every day by the same people.

He is standing still, «sitting» (v.46) at the edge of a road where people are moving forward and not just surviving resignedly, as he does.

Bartimaeus types expect everything from the recognition of others; they live only by begging. They repeat words and gestures that are always identical.

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

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

They live off the movement of others; they feel gratified by the petty benevolences and opinions bartered by those who pass by, by ideas that are never sifted and made their own.

But the Word of the Nazarene triggers the indolent. And his new attitude becomes that of the 'newborn'. In this way, he engages in an industrious, creative, practical - futuristic model of life.

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

The old garment ends up in the dust - cast far away as in the ancient baptismal liturgies: at any age it undertakes, outclassing small cabotage securities.

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

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

Now he understands the primordial and regenerating - indeed, recreating - sense of the Newness of God.

The face-to-face Meeting gave him a diametrically opposite model of a successful man; not subservient to tactics.

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

Religiousness or personal Faith: the choice is decisive.

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

Or leave there, reinvent their lives, abandon the 'mantle' [cf. Mk 10:50] on which comments and common mites were collected.

By opening his eyes and «lifting them up», as an already divine man would do. Pocketing nothing but pearls of light, instead of handouts.

On muddy roads we may get dirty and be uncertain, but we can proceed there in the movement of Christ's priesthood, with sound perception.

In fact - as in this episode - the Gospels not infrequently insist on the (devoutly absurd) criterion that the enemy of God is not sin, but the 'average, passive life' of the «honoured man», identified and placed.

[Thursday 8th wk. in O.T.  May 28, 2026]

The movement of the priesthood of Christ

(Mk 10:46-52)

The encyclical Fratelli Tutti invites a perspective gaze, one that does not adapt.

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

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

Distressed, Paul VI admitted:

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

It looks like a portrait of Bartimaeus' shabby, blind life: 'nothing too much', 'never the excessive'.

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

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

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

The passage in Mark is the agile fruit of the interweaving of a catechesis explaining the immediately preceding passage [the Apostles' aims] and the teaching on the very first forms of baptismal liturgy reserved for the new believers, called 'photismòi-illuminati' [those who from the darkness of pagan life finally opened their eyes to the Light].

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

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

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

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

What, then, is needed to 'see' with the perception of God, beyond appearances, and to lift oneself up from a grey life of almsgiving, literally to the ground? And how do we heal the view of those who do not get their bearings?

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

The disciples themselves are influenced by an often qualunquistic crowd around them that expects little but quiet, leisure and favours; and that presses to be 'within their limits'.

The crouching at the edge Bartimaeus [textually, the 'son of the prized one'] represents us: he is not a free man, capable of activism.

Rather, influenced by a hunger and thirst for prestige and recognition - hunger and thirst that have been passed on by his own family and a whole old mentality that has remained haughty.

The 'child of the honoured one' is not biologically blind (the Italian translation is uncertain) but one who adjusts at random.

He is unable to "look up" [the Greek key-verb in vv.51-52 is aná-blépein] because he does not cultivate ideals; he is content with what passes the outline, which anaesthetises him.

Conditioned by false masters and approximate spiritual guides, seduced by a whole civilisation of the outside world, he too is blocked by a spirit of lethargy - grandiose only in wishful thinking - that nevertheless points his existence downwards.

Spiritual consequence: the victims of an indolent ideology may confuse the Son of God who gives everything of himself and transmits vitality, with the son of David (vv.47-48) who does not give but takes away life.Jesus resembles and refers to the Father, not to an albeit prestigious ruler like David; an able and quick-witted man, a figure of a violent style of domination in constant revenge.

The misunderstanding has heavy consequences.

Initially, every seeker of God runs the risk of mistaking the Lord for a superman and phenomenal captain who blesses and favours his friends in their expectations of tranquillity, unconcern and mediocre stasis, or worldly glory and prestige.

A fine defect of vision, because one reverses the criteria of a wise and solid existence at all - risking sticking it in a puddle of illusions; at best, dragging it down to the ground.

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

Bartimaeus is a man of habit, he is accompanied to the same places every day by the same people.

He is standing still, 'sitting' (v.46) at the edge of a road where people are moving forward and not just surviving as he does, resignedly, unshaken.

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

Bartimaeus types expect everything from the recognition of others; they live only by begging. All they do is repeat the same words and gestures over and over again.

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

An existence dragged along the margins of any interest other than its own neglectful pouch.

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

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

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

His new attitude becomes rather that of the 'newborn'. In doing so, it engages in an industrious, creative, practical - futuristic model of living.

He resurrects dynamically, shedding the rags on which he expected others to lay down something in his favour.

The old dress ends up in the dust - thrown far away as in the ancient baptismal liturgies: at any age it undertakes, outclassing small-minded securities.

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

Personal contact with Jesus has corrected his gaze, made him recover his ideal outlook.

Now he understands the primordial and regenerating - indeed, recreating - sense of the Newness of God.

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

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

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

Healing from such blindness cannot be a... Miracle! Religiosity or personal faith: it is a diriment choice.

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

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

Opening the eyes and 'lifting them up', as an already divine man would do. Pocketing nothing but pearls of light, instead of handouts.

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

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

To internalise and live the message:

Did the encounter with Christ remove like a veil from your eyes?

Have you seized the opportunity to be born as a new man, and lift up your gaze? Or do you remain myopic and inert?

The Passover Passage

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

It is a sad image of an outcast, especially against the backdrop of the city of Jericho, the beautiful and lush oasis in the desert. We know that it was in Jericho that the people of Israel arrived at the end of the long exodus from Egypt: that city represents the gateway to the promised land. Let us recall the words that Moses spoke on that occasion: "If there be among thee any of thy brethren that are in need in any of thy cities in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, neither shalt thou close thy hand before thy brother in need. Since the needy will never be lacking in the land, then I give you this command and say to you: Generously open your hand to your poor and needy brother in your land" (Deut 15:7, 11). The contrast between this recommendation of the Law of God and the situation described in the Gospel is jarring: while the blind man cries out for Jesus, the people rebuke him to keep quiet, as if he had no right to speak. They have no compassion for him; on the contrary, they are annoyed by his cries. How often do we, when we see so many people in the street - people who are in need, who are sick, who have nothing to eat - feel annoyed. How often, when we are faced with so many refugees and displaced persons, we feel discomfort. It is a temptation we all have. Everyone, me too! This is why the Word of God admonishes us, reminding us that indifference and hostility make us blind and deaf, prevent us from seeing our brothers and sisters and do not allow us to recognise the Lord in them. Indifference and hostility. And sometimes this indifference and hostility also becomes aggression and insult: "but throw them all out!", "put them somewhere else!". This aggression is what people used to do when the blind man shouted: 'but you go away, come on, don't speak, don't shout'.

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

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

[Pope Francis, General Audience 15 June 2016]

The miracle of the healing of blind Bartimaeus comes at a significant point in the structure of Saint Mark’s Gospel.  It is situated at the end of the section on the “journey to Jerusalem”, that is, Jesus’ last pilgrimage to the Holy City, for the Passover, in which he knows that his passion, death and resurrection await him.  In order to ascend to Jerusalem from the Jordan valley, Jesus passes through Jericho, and the meeting with Bartimaeus occurs as he leaves the city – in the evangelist’s words, “as he was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a great multitude” (10:46).  This is the multitude that soon afterwards would acclaim Jesus as Messiah on his entry into Jerusalem.  Sitting and begging by the side of the road was Bartimaeus, whose name means “son of Timaeus”, as the evangelist tells us.  The whole of Mark’s Gospel is a journey of faith, which develops gradually under Jesus’ tutelage.  The disciples are the first actors on this journey of discovery, but there are also other characters who play an important role, and Bartimaeus is one of them.  His is the last miraculous healing that Jesus performs before his passion, and it is no accident that it should be that of a blind person, someone whose eyes have lost the light.  We know from other texts too that the state of blindness has great significance in the Gospels.  It represents man who needs God’s light, the light of faith, if he is to know reality truly and to walk the path of life.  It is essential to acknowledge one’s blindness, one’s need for this light, otherwise one could remain blind for ever (cf. Jn 9:39-41).

Bartimaeus, then, at that strategic point of Mark’s account, is presented as a model.  He was not blind from birth, but he lost his sight.  He represents man who has lost the light and knows it, but has not lost hope: he knows how to seize the opportunity to encounter Jesus and he entrusts himself to him for healing.  Indeed, when he hears that the Master is passing along the road, he cries out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (Mk 10:47), and he repeats it even louder (v. 48).  And when Jesus calls him and asks what he wants from him, he replies: “Master, let me receive my sight!” (v. 51).  Bartimaeus represents man aware of his pain and crying out to the Lord, confident of being healed.  His simple and sincere plea is exemplary, and indeed – like that of the publican in the Temple: “God, be merciful to me a sinner” (Lk 18:13) – it has found its way into the tradition of Christian prayer.  In the encounter with Christ, lived with faith, Bartimaeus regains the light he had lost, and with it the fullness of his dignity: he gets back onto his feet and resumes the journey, which from that moment has a guide, Jesus, and a path, the same that Jesus is travelling.  The evangelist tells us nothing more about Bartimaeus, but in him he shows us what discipleship is: following Jesus “along the way” (v. 52), in the light of faith.

Saint Augustine, in one of his writings, makes a striking comment about the figure of Bartimaeus, which can be interesting and important for us today.  He reflects on the fact that in this case Mark indicates not only the name of the person who is healed, but also the name of his father, and he concludes that “Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, had fallen from some position of great prosperity, and was now regarded as an object of the most notorious and the most remarkable wretchedness, because, in addition to being blind, he had also to sit begging. And this is also the reason, then, why Mark has chosen to mention only the one whose restoration to sight acquired for the miracle a fame as widespread as was the notoriety which the man’s misfortune itself had gained” (On the Consensus of the Evangelists, 2, 65, 125: PL 34, 1138).  Those are Saint Augustine’s words.

This interpretation, that Bartimaeus was a man who had fallen from a condition of “great prosperity”, causes us to think.  It invites us to reflect on the fact that our lives contain precious riches that we can lose, and I am not speaking of material riches here.  From this perspective, Bartimaeus could represent those who live in regions that were evangelized long ago, where the light of faith has grown dim and people have drifted away from God, no longer considering him relevant for their lives.  These people have therefore lost a precious treasure, they have “fallen” from a lofty dignity – not financially or in terms of earthly power, but in a Christian sense – their lives have lost a secure and sound direction and they have become, often unconsciously, beggars for the meaning of existence.  They are the many in need of a new evangelization, that is, a new encounter with Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God (cf. Mk 1:1), who can open their eyes afresh and teach them the path.  It is significant that the liturgy puts the Gospel of Bartimaeus before us today, as we conclude the Synodal Assembly on the New Evangelization.  This biblical passage has something particular to say to us as we grapple with the urgent need to proclaim Christ anew in places where the light of faith has been weakened, in places where the fire of God is more like smouldering cinders, crying out to be stirred up, so that they can become a living flame that gives light and heat to the whole house.

The new evangelization applies to the whole of the Church’s life.  It applies, in the first instance, to the ordinary pastoral ministry that must be more animated by the fire of the Spirit, so as to inflame the hearts of the faithful who regularly take part in community worship and gather on the Lord’s day to be nourished by his word and by the bread of eternal life.  I would like here to highlight three pastoral themes that have emerged from the Synod.  The first concerns the sacraments of Christian initiation.  It has been reaffirmed that appropriate catechesis must accompany preparation for Baptism, Confirmation and Eucharist.  The importance of Confession, the sacrament of God’s mercy, has also been emphasized.  This sacramental journey is where we encounter the Lord’s call to holiness, addressed to all Christians.  In fact it has often been said that the real protagonists of the new evangelization are the saints: they speak a language intelligible to all through the example of their lives and their works of charity.

Secondly, the new evangelization is essentially linked to the Missio ad Gentes.  The Church’s task is to evangelize, to proclaim the message of salvation to those who do not yet know Jesus Christ.  During the Synod, it was emphasized that there are still many regions in Africa, Asia and Oceania whose inhabitants await with lively expectation, sometimes without being fully aware of it, the first proclamation of the Gospel.  So we must ask the Holy Spirit to arouse in the Church a new missionary dynamism, whose progatonists are, in particular, pastoral workers and the lay faithful.  Globalization has led to a remarkable migration of peoples.  So the first proclamation is needed even in countries that were evangelized long ago.  All people have a right to know Jesus Christ and his Gospel: and Christians, all Christians – priests, religious and lay faithful – have a corresponding duty to proclaim the Good News.

A third aspect concerns the baptized whose lives do not reflect the demands of Baptism.  During the Synod, it was emphasized that such people are found in all continents, especially in the most secularized countries.  The Church is particularly concerned that they should encounter Jesus Christ anew, rediscover the joy of faith and return to religious practice in the community of the faithful.  Besides traditional and perennially valid pastoral methods, the Church seeks to adopt new ones, developing new language attuned to the different world cultures, proposing the truth of Christ with an attitude of dialogue and friendship rooted in God who is Love.  In various parts of the world, the Church has already set out on this path of pastoral creativity, so as to bring back those who have drifted away or are seeking the meaning of life, happiness and, ultimately, God.  We may recall some important city missions, the “Courtyard of the Gentiles”, the continental mission, and so on.  There is no doubt that the Lord, the Good Shepherd, will abundantly bless these efforts which proceed from zeal for his Person and his Gospel.

Dear brothers and sisters, Bartimaeus, on regaining his sight from Jesus, joined the crowd of disciples, which must certainly have included others like him, who had been healed by the Master.  New evangelizers are like that: people who have had the experience of being healed by God, through Jesus Christ.  And characteristic of them all is a joyful heart that cries out with the Psalmist: “What marvels the Lord worked for us: indeed we were glad” (Ps 125:3).  Today, we too turn to the Lord Jesus, Redemptor hominis  and lumen gentium, with joyful gratitude, making our own a prayer of Saint Clement of Alexandria: “until now I wandered in the hope of finding God, but since you enlighten me, O Lord, I find God through you and I receive the Father from you, I become your coheir, since you did not shrink from having me for your brother.  Let us put away, then, let us put away all blindness to the truth, all ignorance: and removing the darkness that obscures our vision like fog before the eyes, let us contemplate the true God ...; since a light from heaven shone down upon us who were buried in darkness and imprisoned in the shadow of death, [a light] purer than the sun, sweeter than life on this earth” (Protrepticus, 113: 2 – 114:1).  Amen.

[Pope Benedict, conclusion of the Synod 28 October 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?" (Mt 16:15). 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. Jn 20:31).

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]

Today we begin a new series of catecheses on the theme of prayer. Prayer is the breath of faith; it is its most proper expression. Like a cry that issues from the heart of those who believe and entrust themselves to God. Let us think about the story of Bartimaeus, a character in the Gospel (cf. Mk 10:46-52), and I confess that for me he is the most likeable of all. He was blind and sat begging for alms by the roadside on the periphery of his city, Jericho. He is not an anonymous character. He has a face and a name: Bartimaeus, that is, “son of Timaeus”. One day he heard that Jesus would be passing through there. In fact, Jericho was a crossroads of people, continually criss-crossed by pilgrims and tradesmen. Thus, Bartimaeus positioned himself: he would have done anything possible to meet Jesus. So many people did the same. Let us recall Zacchaeus who climbed up the tree. Many wanted to see Jesus; he did too. In this way the man enters the Gospels as a voice that loudly cries out. He cannot see. He does not know whether Jesus is near or far away but he hears him. He understands this from the crowd which, at a certain point, grows and comes closer…. But he is completely alone and no one is concerned about him. And what does Bartimaeus do? He cries out. And he cries out and continues to cry out. He uses the only weapon he possesses: his voice. He begins to shout: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (v. 47). And he continues to cry out in this manner. His repeated cries are a nuisance. They do not seem polite and many people scold him, telling him to be quiet: “But be polite; do not do this”. However, Bartimaeus does not keep silent but rather cries out even more loudly: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (v. 47): That beautiful stubbornness of those who seek a grace and knock and knock on the door of God’s heart. He cries out; he knocks. That expression: “Son of David”, is very important. It means “the Messiah” — he professes the Messiah. It is a profession of faith that emerges from the mouth of that man who was despised by all. And Jesus listens to his cry. Bartimaeus’ prayer touches his heart, God’s heart, and the doors of salvation open up for him. Jesus calls for him. He jumps to his feet and those who had first told him to be quiet, now lead him to the Master. Jesus speaks to him. He asks him to express his desire — this is important — and then the cry becomes a request: “that I may see again, Lord!” (cf. v. 51).

Jesus says to him: “Go your way; your faith has made you well” (v. 52). He recognises in that poor, defenceless and despised man, all the power of his faith, which attracts the mercy and the power of God. Faith is having two hands raised up, a voice that cries out to implore the gift of salvation. The Catechism states that “humility is the foundation of prayer” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2559). Prayer is born of the earth, of the humus from which “humble”, “humility” derive. It comes from our precarious state, from our continuous thirst for God (cf. ibid., 2560-2561). Faith, as we have seen with Bartimaeus, is a cry. Lack of faith is the suppression of that cry. That attitude that the people had, in making him keep quiet: they were not people of faith, whereas he was. To suppress that cry is a type of omertà (code of silence). Faith is a protest against a pitiful condition the cause of which we do not understand. Lack of faith is to limit ourselves to endure a situation to which we have become accustomed. Faith is the hope of being saved. Lack of faith is becoming accustomed to the evil that oppresses us and continuing in that way.

Dear brothers and sisters, we begin this series of catecheses with Bartimaeus’ cry because perhaps everything is already written in someone like him. Bartimaeus is a persevering man. He was surrounded by people who explained that imploring was useless, that it was clamouring without receiving a reply, that it was noise that was only bothersome, and thus please stop crying out. But he did not remain in silence. And in the end he obtained what he wanted.

Greater than any discussion to the contrary, there is a voice in mankind’s heart that invokes. We all have this voice within. A voice that comes forth spontaneously without anyone commanding it, a voice that asks itself about the meaning of our journey on earth, especially when we find ourselves in darkness: “Jesus, have mercy on me! Jesus have mercy on me!”. This is a beautiful prayer.

But are these words perhaps not chiselled in all of creation? Everything invokes and implores so that the mystery of mercy may be definitively fulfilled. Not only Christians pray; they share their cry of prayer with all men and women. But the horizon can be further widened: Paul states that all of creation “has been groaning in travail together until now” (Rom 8:22). Artists are often the interpreters of this silent cry of creation that is found in every creature and emerges above all in the heart of men and women, because they are “beggars before God” (ccc, 2559). It is a beautiful definition of mankind: “beggars before God”. Thank you.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 6 May 2020]