Coming, Prayer and turning point, amid the roar of the waves.

(Mt 24:37-51)

What kind of Coming is it?

And why do we want the Lord to be present in our lives?

Are we waiting for a shortcut - an act of power - that will calm the stormy sea?

Indeed, it does not seem in keeping with the style of Good News to resurrect the 'days of Noah' and the flood that 'swept away all'.

But there is a wise way of understanding these expressions, which is not the one already found in the moral paradigm of religious cultures.

In the observant tradition of all peoples, insecurity is perceived as a disadvantage.

According to commonplace ideas, spiritual masters see progress when a soul with a mixed and disordered existence overcomes its turmoil in favour of order and tranquillity.

But the experience in the Spirit is more intimately restless than obvious. Nor is it the same as a generic 'spiritual life' animated by a devout sense that detaches itself from transversal instances, for an ideal of 'coherent calm'.

Thus conditioned by indoctrination that is standardised to 'being in society', we piously wait to meet our Lord in dark moments, but only so that he may restore our fortune.

We wait for him in times of economic hardship, so that he may give us an advantage with a win; in humiliating circumstances, so that he may help us get back on our feet.

In loneliness, so that he may bring us together with the right person. 

In danger... hoping that at least He will give us the strength to turn the situation around.

And in sickness, we imagine that he will restore our youthful vigour.

Thus, in the Babel, that (at least in the end) he will communicate relaxation - better still, triumph.

In the Gospels, Jesus tries to make his followers understand where and when to encounter God authentically.

But as we wait for his 'Promises' - and for him to manifest himself as a new Justice, without any more 'art of war' [first reading] - we find it difficult to go beyond the exterior.

We project our ideas even onto religion - but Faith detaches itself from them. It evaluates with a different mindset.

For example, we may fail to meet a friend because we get the time and place of the appointment wrong.

The same thing happens with God.

The uncertainty proclaimed by the Gospels is like a 'flood that sweeps everything away' [cf. v. 39]... but it is Good News!

Although we tend to give a sense of permanence to what we have experienced and believed ourselves to be, we repeatedly experience that our certainties change - just like the waves.

Jesus teaches that true doubt paradoxically arises from some aspect of our identity that (comically) attempts to balance the waves of life.

Instead, the essence of each of us flows from a lively Source, which does what it must every day.

Habits, perspectives, reassuring ways of being with people and dealing with situations cut off the richness of our precious nuances; a large part of our very faces.

And the births and rejuvenations that belong to us.

The inner impact of the many stimuli of this cosmic [and personal] Core insinuates an inevitable and fruitful imbalance, which we risk interpreting in a negative way; precisely, as a nuisance.

In the mind of the person who avoids oscillations, that kind of 'wave' that comes to make us think about ancient things is immediately identified as a threat to our identity.

Providence itself – the 'wave' that sees ahead – is perhaps branded with restlessness, even by those who advise us.

In the ideal man, as chiselled by normalising moralism, the swampy 'water' of the drives is what dirties and drags us down. And the sky would always be clear and clean 'above' the earth.

Instead, it is often thought, a cultural identification upstream, that produces insecurity and torment.

Prejudice oppresses us far more than objective reality, which comes into play to refresh our soul and make it as light as the 'sea foam' crudely embodied.

For an evolution towards improvement, Jesus wants a disciple who is permeable to the New that shakes up the old 'status quo'.

The lack of doubt that the Lord intends to convey does not rhyme with the mechanism of habit.

The certainty he wishes to give us is not a false one - that of the lazy immutability of things that are always the same.

The state of defence and 'prevention' may be characteristic of a life spent in self-interested withdrawal, dodging shocks - not a sign of Life in the Spirit.

Today's Gospel wishes believers to be strongly critical, and even insecure: it does not say 'you must be like this', nor 'you are this' - 'we have made it, why not you?'.

[The identity of St. Benedict is not that of St. Francis, although both are figures deeply rooted (like the circumstances) in the same Source; the original source, however, of gushing water].

We must dive into the 'waves', we must know these 'waves'; because our anchor is not in external things or in what we display in shop windows, but in the Source of Being.

The shell of appearances condemns us to the worst kind of fluctuation, to the least advantageous of insecurities: believing that by maintaining (for example) our economic status or prestige, by reaching that goal, by climbing the ladder of success, and so on, we will avoid frustration, we will escape anxiety, we will finally be free of conflict and even happy.

But in this way, our soul is not strengthened, nor does it fly towards unknown territories; rather, it settles in the most conformist enclosure.

Instead, we are alive, and the youth that conquers the Kingdom comes from the chaos of upheavals.

Missionaries are animated by this one certainty: the best stability is instability: that 'roar of the sea and the waves' where no two waves are alike.

In short, based on the Word of God, perhaps even the liturgical colour purple should be reinterpreted - in a much more vital, incisive and profound way than we thought we understood.

To internalise and live the message:

Advent: why do you want the Lord to come and be present in your life? 

Vigilance is now

(Mt 24:42-51)

    The key to understanding this passage could be St Augustine's famous expression: 'Timeo Dominum transeuntem'. Incarnation is a direct link between reality and the divine condition.

The time of the person of Faith is like a season of waiting, but not of impermanence: rather, it is one of continuous capitalisation and transformation.

Nor is the moment of the Church configured as an institutional period, a pause with a set time and an expiry date.

Of course, it is not even a time of preparation based on our ideas, but rather of welcoming the Kingdom, which comes in its Appeal - today with very clear proposals (even in its subtractions).

We are called to be ready at every moment, and quick as a "thief in the night"... perhaps he wants to take away something that we believe is absolutely ours, but to which we are too attached.

From the earliest generations of believers, groups of visionaries arose - unfortunately misguided - connected to an idea of imminent catastrophe.

The expectation of the sudden "return" of a Messiah who was to put an end to injustice and bring about the Final Judgment was common among those who desired the beginning of a new phase in history.

However, nowhere in the Gospels is it written that Jesus 'returns', as if he had left. He is coming, certainly: 'He is coming' - not 'He returns'.

In the New Testament, the Risen One is the Coming One [‘o Erchòmenos], that is, the One who bursts in, who incessantly makes himself present.

The end of the world and the return of the Lord on a white cloud is a suggestion that is still used today to intimidate simple people and condition them into fanatical groups. Social networks are full of it.

The point of Life is to notice, to perceive the Presence of Someone within something, in the summary things and in the events of liberation; even in the drama of rebirth from the global crisis.

No form of alienation comes from the Gospels: Christ is with us at all times, in our commitment to nature, cultures and the life of all.

The full, total experience of completeness is not given in a particular time. But, for example, the spirit of selflessness that is spreading and already making relationships and things new remains a guarantee of the Kingdom.

It is the seed and prelude to the new world that the Church is called to proclaim and build, welcoming it with open arms.

With the 'Son of Man' who 'is coming' at the centre, step by step, let us not lose sight of the goal.

Every moment is a good moment to sharpen our discernment in the Spirit. Flexibility of heart will prevail over predictions and the imperatives of the mind.

This is how we become aware of and perceive opportunities; open our eyes, decipher events, shift our gaze - in order to grasp the Coming of the Lord, sense its meaning, intuit it as a source of Hope.

In the Eucharist, we proclaim the Coming of the Lord, because life in Christ is, in every event, anticipation and preparation for the Spousal Encounter.

From the perspective of Faith, every critical moment cooperates for good. It is a call and an opportunity to respond, not a permanent fear.

Son of Man

'Son of Man' is therefore not a 'religious' or selective title, but a possibility for all those who adhere to the Lord's proposal of life and reinterpret it in a creative way.

They overcome their fixed and natural boundaries, making room for the Gift; welcoming from God the fullness of being, in its new, unrepeatable paths.

Feeling totally and undeservedly loved, they discover other facets of themselves, change the way they are with themselves, and can grow: they fulfil themselves, blossom and radiate the completeness they have received.

By leaving behind the poor or static idea we have of ourselves—a serious problem in many sensitive and dedicated souls—even the relational personality can begin to imagine.

And dream, discovering that it no longer has to give weight to those who want to influence a person's journey (in the fullness of being and vocation).

Those who activate the idea that they can do it then transmit the power of the Spirit they have received and welcomed, and the world flourishes.

By emanating a different atmosphere, people who are integrated in all their aspects, even their opposite ones, feel awareness arise, create projects, emit and attract other energies, and activate them.

God wants to extend the sphere in which he 'reigns' - relating in an interpersonal way - to all humanity... A Church without visible boundaries, which will begin with the 'Son of Man' (a figure not exclusive to Jesus).

This universalistic perspective emerges, among other things, from Jesus' presentation of himself not only as 'Son of David' but as 'Son of Man' (Mk 10:33). 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), refers to the figure who comes 'with the clouds of heaven' (v. 13) and is an image that heralds a completely new kingdom, a kingdom supported not by human powers, but by the true power that comes from God. Jesus uses this rich and complex expression and refers it to himself to reveal the true character of his messianism, as a mission destined for all people and for every person, overcoming all ethnic, national and religious particularism. And it is precisely in following Jesus, in allowing oneself to be drawn into his humanity and thus into communion with God, that one enters this new kingdom, which the Church proclaims and anticipates, and which overcomes fragmentation and dispersion.

[Pope Benedict, Consistory, 24 November 2012]

With the image of the Son of Man, the prophet Daniel already wanted to indicate a reversal of the criteria of authenticity (human and divine): a man or a people, a leader, finally with a heart of flesh instead of a beast.

In the icon of the 'Son of Man', the evangelists wish to reveal and trigger the triumph of the human over the inhuman, the gradual disappearance of everything that blocks the communication of full life.

The People who shine in a divine way are no longer entangled in fears or hysteria, but rather bring to the fore all their varied potential for love and the effusion of life.

The 'Son of Man' - a possible reality - is anyone who reaches fulfilment, the flowering of their capacity to be, in the extension of relationships... entering into harmony with the sphere of God the Creator, the Lover of life.

They do so in their varied facets, and merge with Him - becoming One. Creating abundance.

"Son of Man" is the man who behaves on earth as God himself would, who makes the divine and its power present in history.

He can therefore afford to replace the sombre seriousness of being pious and submissive with the wise light-heartedness that makes everything light.

"Son of Man" represents the highest form of humanity, the Person par excellence - who becomes liberating instead of oppressive.

The consequences are unimaginable, because each of us in Christ (and for our brothers and sisters) no longer has dead paths to retrace.

"Watch therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming" (Mt 24:42). Jesus, who came among us at Christmas and will return in glory at the end of time, never tires of visiting us continually, in the events of every day. He asks us and warns us to wait for him, keeping watch, because his coming cannot be planned or predicted, but will be sudden and unpredictable. Only those who are awake will not be caught off guard. He warns us not to let what happened in Noah's time happen to us, when people were eating and drinking carefree and were caught unprepared by the flood (cf. Mt 24:37-38). What does the Lord want us to understand with this warning, if not that we must not allow ourselves to be absorbed by material realities and concerns to the point of becoming ensnared?

"Watch therefore..." Let us listen to Jesus' invitation in the Gospel and prepare ourselves to relive with faith the mystery of the birth of the Redeemer, who filled the universe with joy; let us prepare ourselves to welcome the Lord in his unceasing coming to meet us in the events of life, in joy and in sorrow, in health and in sickness; let us prepare ourselves to meet him in his final coming. His passing is always a source of peace, and if suffering, the legacy of human nature, sometimes becomes almost unbearable, with the coming of the Saviour "suffering - without ceasing to be suffering - becomes, in spite of everything, a song of praise" (Encyclical Spe salvi, 37).

[Pope Benedict, homily at the Roman hospital of St. John the Baptist, 2 December 2007]

"Watch, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming" (Mt 24: 42). Jesus, who came among us at Christmas and will return in glory at the end of time, does not tire of visiting us continuously in everyday events. He asks us to be alert to perceive his presence, his advent, and recommends that we watch and wait for him since his coming is not programmed or foretold but will be sudden and unexpected. Only those who are alert are not taken by surprise. He warns: may it not happen to you as in Noah's day, when men ate and drank heedlessly and were swept away unprepared by the flood (cf. Mt 24: 37-38). What does the Lord want to make us understand with this warning, other than we must not let ourselves be absorbed by material realities and concerns to the point of being ensnared by them? We must live in the eyes of the Lord with the conviction that he can make himself present. If we live in this way, the world will become better. 

"Watch, therefore". Let us listen to Jesus' Gospel invitation and prepare ourselves to relive with faith the mystery of the Redeemer's birth, which filled all the world with joy; let us prepare ourselves to welcome the Lord in his constant coming to us in the events of life, in joy and in pain, in health and in sickness; let us prepare ourselves to meet him at his definitive coming. His nearness is always a source of peace, and if suffering, a legacy of human nature, sometimes becomes unbearable, with the Saviour's advent "suffering - without ceasing to be suffering - becomes, despite everything, a hymn of praise" (Spe Salvi, n. 37).

[Pope Benedict, homily at the Roman hospital of St. John the Baptist, 2 December 2007]

1. “Faith is the foundation of things hoped for, the proof of things not seen” (Heb 11:1).
These are the words of the author of the Letter to the Hebrews in today’s second reading.

Faith, which brings man from the world of visible things to the invisible reality of God and eternal life, resembles the journey to which Abraham was called by God - and for this reason he is called "the father of all who believe" (cf. Rom 4:11-12). Later in the Letter to the Hebrews, we read: "By faith Abraham, when called, obeyed and went out to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance; he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he lived in the land of promise . . ." (Heb 11:8-9). Yes, that is how it is. Faith is the spiritual pilgrimage on which man sets out, following the word of the living God, to reach the land of promised peace and happiness, union with God "face to face"; that union which will fill the human heart with the deepest hunger and thirst: the hunger for truth and the thirst for love.

Therefore, as we hear later in today's liturgy, the attitude of mind that befits the believer is one of vigilance: 'You too must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him' (Lk 12:40). Such vigilance is also an expression of spiritual aspiration to God through faith.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus, 10 August 1980]

Today I would like to pause on that dimension of hope that is vigilant waiting. The theme of vigilance is one of the guiding threads of the New Testament. Jesus preaches to his disciples: “Let your loins be girded and your lamps burning, and be like men who are waiting for their master to come home from the marriage feast, so that they may open to him at once when he comes and knocks” (Lk 12:35-36). In this time that follows the Resurrection of Jesus, in which peaceful moments continually alternate with painful moments, a Christian never rests. The Gospel recommends being as servants who never go to sleep until their master has returned. This world requires our responsibility, and we accept all of it and with love. Jesus wants our existence to be laborious, that we never lower our guard, so as to welcome with gratitude and wonder each new day given to us by God. Every morning is a blank page on which a Christian begins to write with good works. We have already been saved by Jesus’ redemption, however, now we await the full manifestation of his power: when at last God will be everything to every one (cf. 1 Cor 15:28). Nothing is more certain, in the faith of Christians, than this “appointment”, this appointment with the Lord, when he shall come. And when this day arrives, we Christians want to be like those servants who spent the night with their loins girded and their lamps burning: we must be ready for the salvation that comes; ready for the encounter. Have you thought about what that encounter with Jesus will be like, when he comes? It will be an embrace, an enormous joy, a great joy! We must live in anticipation of this encounter!

Christians are not made for boredom; if anything, for patience. We know that hidden in the monotony of certain identical days is a mystery of grace. There are people who with the perseverance of their love become as wells that irrigate the desert. Nothing happens in vain; and no situation in which a Christian finds himself is completely resistant to love. No night is so long as to make us forget the joy of the sunrise. And the darker the night, the closer the dawn. If we remain united with Jesus, the cold of difficult moments does not paralyze us; and if even the whole world preached against hope, if it said that the future would bring only dark clouds, a Christian knows that in that same future there will be Christ’s return. No one knows when this will take place, but the thought that at the end of our history there will be Merciful Jesus suffices in order to have faith and not to curse life. Everything will be saved. Everything. We will suffer; there will be moments that give rise to anger and indignation, but the sweet and powerful memory of Christ will drive away the temptation to think that this life is a mistake

After we have met Jesus, we cannot but examine history with faith and hope. Jesus is as a house, and we are inside, and from the windows of this house we look at the world. For this reason we do not close in on ourselves, we do not long with melancholy for a supposedly golden past, but we look ever forward, to a future that is not only our handiwork, but that above all is a constant concern of the providence of God. All that is lacklustre will one day become light.

Let us consider that God never contradicts himself. Never. God never disappoints. His will in our regard is not nebulous but is a well-defined salvific plan: God “desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim 2:4). Therefore let us not abandon ourselves to the flow of events with pessimism, as if history were a runaway train. Resignation is not a Christian virtue. 

As it is not Christian to shrug one’s shoulders or bow one’s head before a seemingly inescapable destiny.

One who brings hope to the world is never a submissive person. Jesus recommends we not await him with idle hands: “Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes” (Lk 12:37). There is no peacemaker who at the end of the day has not compromised his personal peace, taking on the problems of others. A submissive person is not a peace-builder but is an idler, one who wants to be comfortable. Meanwhile a Christian is a peacemaker when he takes risks, when he has the courage to take risks in order to bring good, the good which Jesus has given us, given us as a treasure.

In each day of our life, we repeat that invocation that the first disciples, in their Aramaic language, expressed with the words Marana tha, and which we find in the last verse of the Bible, “Come, Lord Jesus” (Rev 22:20). It is the refrain of every Christian life: in our world we need nothing other than Christ’s caress. What a grace if, in prayer, in the difficult days of this life, we hear his voice which responds and assures us: “Behold, I am coming soon” (Rev 22:7)!

[Pope Francis, General Audience, 11 October 2017]

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time  (year A)  [23 August 2026]

First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (22:19–23)

We are in Jerusalem around 700 BC, during the reign of Hezekiah. The steward of the royal palace, Shebna, holds a very important office: he is entrusted with the ‘keys of the house of David’, a symbol of the authority to control access to the king and to govern in his name. The prophet Isaiah accuses Shebna of two serious offences: 1. He supported an alliance with Egypt against the Assyrian empire, a choice that would have led to grave consequences for the kingdom: the offence, therefore, of giving bad advice. 2. Instead of serving the people, he was primarily concerned with his own prestige and power: the offence of pursuing his own interests. For this reason, Isaiah announces his dismissal and the appointment of Eliakim, described as a true servant of the people. He is entrusted with the keys to the kingdom with the words: ‘If he opens, no one will shut; if he shuts, no one will open.’ From this historical event, the sacred author draws several important messages: 1. God acts within concrete history, and political events too form part of the history of salvation. 2. Nothing escapes God’s plan of salvation, and everything contributes to its fulfilment. 3. In this context, the role of the prophets is to call rulers and those in power to justice and the common good. 4. We must constantly remember that all authority is a service: power exists for the good of the people, not for the personal interest of those who exercise it. 5 We must not forget that when the good of his people is threatened, God intervenes to raise up faithful leaders, for he never abandons his people or his plans for salvation. 

Responsorial Psalm (137/138)

The prayer of the poor rises above the clouds. This short psalm (138 according to the Hebrew numbering, 137 in the Greek) is a prayer of thanksgiving that summarises the entire history of the Covenant between God and Israel. As is often the case in the psalms, the ‘I’ who speaks actually represents the whole people of Israel, chosen by God to know his love and bear witness to it before the nations. The psalm opens with a thanksgiving: ‘I give you thanks, Lord, with all my heart’. In the Greek version, the reason for this praise is specified: God has heard the prayer of his people. This is one of the fundamental convictions of the biblical faith. Ever since the experience of Moses at the burning bush, God has presented himself as the one who sees the suffering of his people, hears their cry and knows their anguish. He is not indifferent to human suffering, but sustains his children so that they may not be overwhelmed by evil. This is why the psalm states that the Lord, though he is most high, looks with care upon the humble. The same teaching is taken up by Ben Sira: ‘The prayer of the poor pierces the clouds’, that is, it reaches God. And Jesus, too, will express the same trust before Lazarus’s tomb: ‘I knew that you always hear me’ (John 11:41–42). This is a universal psalm which, in some parts, lends itself to various possible interpretations due to differences between the Hebrew and Greek texts. The phrase ‘I will sing to you in the presence of the angels’ in the Hebrew text could be translated as ‘before the gods’ (the Elohîm). The two readings are not mutually exclusive: ‘Before the angels’ evokes the heavenly liturgy, in which the heavenly beings continually praise God with the song ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’, as in the vision of the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 6:3). ‘Before the gods’ is a profession of faith: the God of Israel is the one true God, whilst the idols of the nations have no power whatsoever. A Syriac translation, on the other hand, proposes: ‘I sing to you before the kings’. In this case, Israel’s mission to bear witness to the Lord before all the peoples of the earth comes to the fore. Rather than contradicting one another, the three interpretations complement one another. The psalm sings of God’s love and faithfulness. In the Bible, ‘love and faithfulness’ is a phrase that denotes God’s unshakeable faithfulness to the Covenant. For Israel, remembering God’s love and faithfulness means remembering that the Lord never abandons his people, even when they prove unfaithful. The conclusion is trust in God’s work. Indeed, the psalm ends with a plea: ‘Do not forsake the work of your hands’. This is not a request born of fear, but of trust. The believer knows that God’s love is eternal and that, despite human frailty, the Lord will continue to carry out his plan of salvation. The final message is therefore simple and profound: God always hears the cry of the lowly and the poor; his faithfulness never fails and his work in history continues. For this reason, the believer can praise him with gratitude and entrust themselves to him with complete confidence.

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (11:33–36)

This passage concludes Paul’s reflection on the rift within the Jewish people following the emergence of the Christian community. For centuries, the Jews had been certain that they were the people chosen by God to bear witness to the one true God before the world, and his Covenant had been confirmed throughout history. The prophets had recalled this vocation, proclaiming that Israel would be a light to the nations and an instrument of salvation for all peoples. The emergence of Christianity triggered a profound crisis, and a group of Jews arose who recognised Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah. Paul, who was Jewish and became a Christian, experienced this rift first-hand. On the one hand, he adhered to Christ; on the other, he suffered at the sight of the majority of his people rejecting the Gospel. This gave rise to his question: has God perhaps rejected Israel? Has the Covenant been annulled and replaced by a new people? Paul finds an initial answer in the Scriptures: the Covenant, founded on God’s gratuitous love and not on the people’s abilities or merits, cannot be revoked because God is faithful to his promises and cannot deny himself. For this reason, Paul affirms that ‘God’s gifts and his call are irrevocable’ (Rom 11:29). The second reason for hope is the conviction that the relationship between God and Israel – described by the prophets as a spousal love – will be maintained even in times of suffering, which are transformed into opportunities for salvation. A portion of Israel—the so-called ‘faithful remnant’ spoken of by the prophets—has accepted Christ, and Paul is convinced that this process will lead to full salvation: he cannot explain how, but he is certain of it. Having reached this point, Paul offers no further theoretical explanations, but contemplates the mystery of God: ‘Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are  his judgements and his ways beyond our understanding!’  The final message, which draws on words from Isaiah, Job and the wisdom tradition,  is an invitation to Christians to cultivate an attitude of humble trust: God’s plans are beyond human understanding, but his faithfulness is certain. 

From the Gospel according to Matthew (16:13–20)

We have reached a decisive moment in the Gospel of Matthew. At Caesarea, Peter  recognises Jesus as the Messiah without Jesus having just performed any extraordinary sign: Peter’s faith springs from an inner revelation. For this reason, Jesus says to him: “Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah, for neither flesh nor blood has revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.” True faith does not arise from human intelligence, but is a gift from God. And this is what is new about Peter’s confession: it is not the use of individual titles, but their connection. Jesus asks who the ‘Son of Man’ is, and Peter replies that he is the ‘Son of God’. In this way, he recognises that the glorious figure foretold by Daniel is one and the same as the Messiah sent by God. However, Peter does not yet fully understand the mystery of Jesus. He knows that Jesus is the Messiah, but he has not yet realised that he is the Son of God made man. This understanding will mature after the Resurrection and the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Immediately after Peter’s profession of faith, Jesus begins to proclaim openly his Passion, death and Resurrection. The expression ‘from that time on’ indicates that a fundamental milestone in the understanding of his identity has been reached. In Jesus’ time, the expression ‘Son of God’ was essentially equivalent to ‘Messiah’ or ‘King consecrated by God’. The disciples had already used this title after the miracle of walking on water, but at that time they had been struck above all by his power. During his trial before the high priest, Jesus once again combines these two titles, declaring that the Son of Man will come on the clouds of heaven and sit at the right hand of God. Yet it is precisely at that moment that his kingship is revealed, not through force, but through the love with which he entrusts himself into the hands of men. In Caesarea, following his profession of faith, Peter is entrusted with the mission of leading the Church: “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church.” The rock does not refer to a personal quality of Peter—who would repeatedly demonstrate his frailties—but to the faith he received from the Father. The foundation of the Church is therefore faith in Jesus Christ. The Church is the new people of God, the “people of the saints of the Most High” foretold by Daniel, united to Christ as the body is to its head. And Peter receives the power of the keys. Jesus adds: “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” This is the so-called power of the keys, which recalls the symbol of the authority entrusted in the Old Testament to Eliakim. This does not mean that Peter and his successors are omnipotent, but that God undertakes to accompany their mission. The Church has the task of bringing people into communion with the Father and opening up access to the Kingdom for them. The final message is Jesus’ reassuring word: ‘I will build my Church’. It is not the Church that saves itself, nor is it people who build it by their own strength. It is Christ himself, the Risen One, who sustains and guides her. This is why Jesus can promise that the gates of hell shall not prevail against her. The strength of the Church does not depend on the perfection of her members, but on the faithfulness of Christ, the Son of the living God, who continues to build her throughout history.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Mt 23:27-32)

John Chrysostom writes in his Commentary on the Gospel of Mt:

«If the conscience of each one could be opened, how many worms, how much rottenness and what unimaginable filth we would find in it. Vile and perverse desires, more filthy than the worms themselves» (73:2).

In his effective Commentary on the Gospel of Mt, St Jerome writes:

«The sepulchres on the outside are white with lime, adorned with marble and gold, resplendent in their colours; but inside they are full of the bones of the dead. So also the perverse teachers, who say one thing and do another: in dress they show purity and in speech humility; but inside they are full of all decay and impure desire» (4).

Jesus takes a stand against hypocrisy and inconsistent extrinsicism. He does so against authorities who save clothing, ideas and image, but radically unfaithful.

He regrets that they appear fictitious and correct, while inside they are a total denial of the respect for God that they showcase.

Thus they let the dark side of the world stagnate, instead of helping us to remove it.

The ostentatious pity for the great ancestors denounces a guilt complex (vv.29-32), not a profoundly intimate key feature - a unifying sphere of being and acting.

Spiritual masters are in the field not to show off - but to benefit, to give colour, new life; to promote authentic and cheering, creative situations.

The Lord proposes a renewal that reaches deep within, more intimate than the epidermal fuss; that touches the place and dimension of the encounter with the Father.

He is not content with 'monuments' with unseemly surprise, inside.

We are always tempted to remain on the level of an embellished surface, seeking easy and immediate gratification, esteem, honour - especially we priests, who not infrequently like to lull ourselves into accolades.

We satisfy ourselves with epidermal things, why? Encountering oneself, others and reality requires an onerous commitment: that of questioning oneself; stepping out of forms, and external fashions.

The whitewashed tombs appear sacred and graceful, but one knows what they sometimes contain.

Not always crystal-clear diamonds; not always expressions of a direct line with others and with God.

In short, the conspicuousness of pomp and paraphernalia, or winking patinas, is a kind of projection.

Artifice that does not allow thoughts to be processed; it only drives away tiring nightmares - in the most childish way.

Love, on the other hand, lives on real sparks - it does not cross them unscathed by contenting itself with self-representation in decorative signs, or in ideology that lures the naive.

Screens of incredible emptiness.

While recognizing the facets of great artistic expression and differing opinions as legitimate, Jesus would have subscribed to a principle of the Puritan laity: «The greater the ceremonies, the lesser the Truth».

[Wednesday 21st wk. in O.T.  August 26, 2026]

Duality or integral practice: branches and Roots

(Mt 23:23–32)

    On how to remain on the Path that fosters growth, and to fulfil one’s natural calling, the Tao Te Ching states (LIX):

‘ ‘Sink deep roots and strengthen the trunk: this is the Way of long life and eternal youth.’

And Master Wang Pi comments: ‘To accumulate virtue means to focus on the root and only then to raise the branches.’

When the leaders of a dubious form of religiosity seek to gain credibility, they dwell on abstract ideas or minutiae, and turn a blind eye to what is aberrant.

In ancient times, the duplicity between what they displayed and what they practised was proverbial.

To conceal their ignoble spirit of plunder (v. 25), they conjure up all manner of legalistic subtleties, thereby overshadowing the essential requirements.

Even in Israel, they never followed the line taken by the Prophets: they plotted to make Jesus—who was exposing them—suffer, seeking to discourage him with mocking insults and accusations—with the aim of undermining his boldness.

Yet the new Rabbi continued his scathing condemnation of religious formalism, which created barriers to any profound exploration of the motivations behind one’s actions. 

Nevertheless, his story helps us to understand that even the harsh circumstances and the ambiguous attitudes of the leaders themselves can be an opportunity and a starting point.

Perhaps a gift, to take action. The inner man comes alive even by shattering a mask, a role, a formal duty, a persona; an established icon of wanting to appear rather than to be.

For us today, too, it is a matter of taking the greatest risk with Christ, in favour of a long inner adventure.

Here we touch upon those realms where the Call by Name is unlike any other.

There, where we encounter ourselves, our deepest vocational identity, our unexpressed talents, and the divine Author’s signature, in Uniqueness.

If we do not silence it, then the vocational Seed that does not lie, and which guides, will emerge within us; the Risen One, present, who reveals himself to be understanding, gentle, attentive, utterly personal, yet clear.

Attention to detail and minutiae is good and driving (v.23) only if it is united with this intimate discovery of one’s own unique Mission.

Here, the call to fundamental values does not imply indifference or contempt for what seems secondary: such a call may conceal a unique character.

Without extreme incentives, the motive behind our actions might well remain self-interest and concern for one’s own reputation, and so on.

This would pervade the soul through inaction or silence, rendering the lived experience of Faith barren and discredited.

In this way, even an internal or external contradiction can help bring forth our deepest self.

Even anger at disorder can trigger growth, so that we may live up to our Name.

Thus… we put down roots and strengthen the trunk; we stimulate an inner youthfulness. Keeping our sights set on the hidden Seed, before we let our branches grow.

The Master proposes a return to the essential – so too that we may follow the ‘unique and specific path that the Lord has in store for us’ [Gaudete et Exsultate, no. 11].

All this stems from a great desire to be born anew, in both small and great things, so that we may bring forth our deepest self.

To internalise and live out the message:

What is your well-filtered gnat, which someone has conditioned you to regard as a camel? What twisted monstrosity have you been forced to swallow, so that you might be deemed fit to follow the Lord?

Beautiful on the outside, rotten on the inside

Appearances: emptiness

(Mt 23:27–32)

    John Chrysostom writes in his Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew:

‘If one could open up the conscience of every person, how many worms, how much rot and what unimaginable stench would we find within. Vile and perverse desires, filthier even than the worms themselves’ (73:2).

Perhaps we were taken aback by the Pope’s stern stance against cheerful, casual and ambiguous forms of asset management, and in the realm of morality within the Catholic Church – a veritable campaign of clerical reform, which has gone so far as to reopen prisons.

But in taking a stand against the system of grand pretensions [hypocrisy and incoherent outward show], Jesus goes even further.

He does so in the face of the ancient authorities, the religious leaders and those who trade in the sacred – leaders who preserve their reputations, their ideas and their image, yet are radically unfaithful.

He laments their false and proper outward appearance, whilst inwardly they are the total negation of the respect for God that they put on display.

In this way, they allow the dark side of the world to fester, instead of helping us to rid ourselves of it.

The ostentatious piety shown towards the great ancestors betrays a guilt complex (vv. 29–32), not a deep, intimate conviction – the unifying core of being and action.

Hysteria that exorcises the vice of the ‘chosen ones’ of all time: getting rid of those who unmask their empty existence; as well as their well-adorned, intellectual or legalistic influence, which still confines the lives of so many people to tombs.

Spiritual masters are on the scene not to put themselves on display – nor to present themselves as menacing guides.

They must act to do good, to bring colour and new life; to foster authentic situations and new, uplifting and creative content.

In his detailed Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, St Jerome writes:

‘ Outwardly, the tombs are whitewashed with lime, adorned with marble and gold, resplendent in their colours; but inside they are full of the bones of the dead. So too are the perverse teachers, who say one thing and do another: in their dress they display purity and in their words humility; but inside they are full of every kind of rot and every impure desire’ (4).

The Lord calls for a renewal that reaches deep within, more intimate than mere superficial agitation; one that touches the very place and dimension of our encounter with the Father.

He is not satisfied with ‘monuments’ that harbour a surprise within.

We are always tempted to remain on the level of a beautified surface, in search of easy and immediate satisfactions, esteem and honour – especially we priests, who not infrequently love to lull ourselves with futile accolades.

And our various theatres of ostentatious yet hollow religiosity are more than willing to cloak the membership of the leading actors in the civilisation of fiction – clean and adorned – with spiritual prestige.

We are content with superficial things – why? Encountering oneself, others and reality requires a heavy commitment: that of questioning oneself; of stepping outside forms and external fashions.

But good manners are not enough to cover up so many terrible habits.

The false security of presenting our soap-opera façade is no longer enough: a figure adorned with even religious and devout status that one wishes to display.

The hypocrisy of complacent interpretations or over-the-top characterisations is an attitude that is not infrequently disguised and even criminal.

It is cheerfully leading us towards the dark evil of the most decadent emptiness and widespread sadness.

The whitewashed tombs of our premature graveyard appear sacred and graceful, but we know what they sometimes contain.

Not always crystalline diamonds; not always expressions of a direct connection with others and with God.

Therefore, the surprising commitment of the current hierarchies to internal purification remains a firm and entirely appropriate principle.

It is life that matters and must be promoted, not the papier-mâché facade of all that is unknown or hidden which has grown within our homes.

Indeed, it is precisely the mannerists or modernists, the superficial moralisers, the most vain proponents of ritual beauty or the latest fashions… who turn out to be the worst sort of people – leading double lives; lovers of a satrap-like style [perhaps for social redemption].

Herein lies the confusion of ideas, even for oneself, and the paradoxical act of disidentification.

In short, the ostentatiousness of grandeur and pretence, or of glossy facades that are always winking at us, is a sort of projection.

An artifice that prevents the formation of thoughts; it merely wards off exhausting nightmares – in the most childish way.

Love, on the other hand, thrives on real sparks – it does not pass through them unscathed, content to represent itself merely in decorative symbols, or in the ideology that lures the naive.

Screens of incredible emptiness.

Whilst recognising the legitimacy of the facets of great artistic expressions and differing opinions, Jesus would have endorsed the principle of the Anglo-Saxon puritanical laity: ‘The greater the ceremonies, the lesser the Truth’.

To internalise and live out the message:

Which forms of clerical hypocrisy [or blind adherence] annoy you, despite their ostentation?

The hypocritical accusers pretend to entrust the judgement to him whereas it is actually he himself whom they wish to accuse and judge. Jesus, on the other hand, is "full of grace and truth" (Jn 1: 14): he can read every human heart, he wants to condemn the sin but save the sinner, and unmask hypocrisy. St John the Evangelist highlights one detail: while his accusers are insistently interrogating him, Jesus bends down and starts writing with his finger on the ground. St Augustine notes that this gesture portrays Christ as the divine legislator: in fact, God wrote the law with his finger on tablets of stone (cf. Commentary on John's Gospel, 33,5). Thus Jesus is the Legislator, he is Justice in person. And what is his sentence? "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her". These words are full of the disarming power of truth that pulls down the wall of hypocrisy.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 21 March 2010]

2. The present-day mentality, more perhaps than that of people in the past, seems opposed to a God of mercy, and in fact tends to exclude from life and to remove from the human heart the very idea of mercy. The word and the concept of "mercy" seem to cause uneasiness in man, who, thanks to the enormous development of science and technology, never before known in history, has become the master of the earth and has subdued and dominated.

15. Let us offer up our petitions, directed by the faith, by the hope, and by the charity which Christ has planted in our hearts. This attitude is likewise love of God, whom modern man has sometimes separated far from himself, made extraneous to himself, proclaiming in various ways that God is "superfluous." This is, therefore, love of God, the insulting rejection of whom by modern man we feel profoundly, and we are ready to cry out with Christ on the cross: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."137 At the same time it is love of people, of all men and women without any exception or division: without difference of race, culture, language, or world outlook, without distinction between friends and enemies. This is love for people-it desires every true good for each individual and for every human community, every family, every nation, every social group, for young people, adults, parents, the elderly-a love for everyone, without exception. This is love, or rather an anxious solicitude to ensure for each individual every true good and to remove and drive away every sort of evil.

[Pope John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia]

When it is said of someone that they are a person with a double life, it is not to pay them a compliment. On the contrary. It is those people who irritate, cause indignation, or often even disgust with behaviour that contradicts the things that they are paying lip service to. Whether it is a politician or a neighbour makes little difference: discovering, so to speak, a 'double life', is something that always hurts. And let us not mention the disillusionment it can generate, especially in young people.

But if preaching well and braying badly is always an irritating thing, when it is a priest doing it, it is even more intolerable. Because there is something more at stake. Pope Francis said it very clearly, and as always in a very direct and effective style, a few days ago. When, in the homily of the morning Mass at Santa Marta, he stressed how "it is ugly to see pastors of double life", indeed it is a real "wound in the Church". For the Pope, they are "sick pastors, who have lost their authority and go on in this double life"; and, he added, "there are many ways of carrying on the double life: but it is double ... And Jesus is very strong with them. Not only does he tell people not to listen to them but not to do what they do, but what does he say to them? "You are whited sepulchres": beautiful in doctrine, from the outside. But inside, rottenness. This is the end of the pastor who has no closeness with God in prayer and with people in compassion'.

For it is this that makes the difference. Francis reiterates it firmly: 'What gives a pastor authority or awakens the authority that is given by the Father, is closeness: closeness to God in prayer and closeness to people. The pastor detached from the people does not reach the people with the message. Closeness, this double closeness. This is the anointing of the pastor who is moved by God's gift in prayer, and can be moved by people's sins, problems, illnesses: let the pastor be moved. The scribes ... had lost the 'ability' to be moved precisely because 'they were not close either to the people or to God'". And without this closeness, or when for whatever reason it is lost, 'the shepherd ends up in inconsistency of life'.

It seems like re-reading the words that John Paul II, in his Holy Thursday letter addressed to priests around the world in 1986, dedicated to the Holy Curate of Ars, pointing to him, on the second centenary of his birth, as an example for all priests. 'It is certainly not a matter of forgetting,' wrote Benedict XVI, again on St John Mary Vianney, in his letter of indiction for the 2009 Year for Priests, 'that the substantial effectiveness of the ministry remains independent of the holiness of the minister; but neither can we overlook the extraordinary fruitfulness generated by the encounter between the objective holiness of the ministry and the subjective holiness of the minister. The Curé d'Ars immediately began this humble and patient work of harmonisation between his life as a minister and the holiness of the ministry entrusted to him, deciding to 'live' even materially in his parish church: 'As soon as he arrived, he chose the church as his dwelling... He would enter the church before dawn and only leave it after the evening Angelus. There one had to look for him when one needed him,' reads the first biography'. Consistency, then. Not duplicity. Because God's people need everything except whitewashed sepulchres.

[Pope Francis, St. Martha; Salvatore Mazza in Avvenire 13 January 2018]