The Upper Room in Jerusalem too was a kind of “school of faith” for the Apostles. However, in a sense, what happened to Thomas goes beyond what occurred near Caesarea Philippi. In the Upper Room we see a more radical dialectic of faith and unbelief, and, at the same time, an even deeper confession of the truth about Christ. It was certainly not easy to believe that the One who had been placed in the tomb three days earlier was alive again.

The divine Master had often announced that he would rise from the dead, and in many ways he had shown that he was the Lord of life. Yet the experience of his death was so overwhelming that people needed to meet him directly in order to believe in his resurrection: the Apostles in the Upper Room, the disciples on the road to Emmaus, the holy women beside the tomb. . . Thomas too needed it. But when his unbelief was directly confronted by the presence of Christ, the doubting Apostle spoke the words which express the deepest core of faith: If this is the case, if you are truly living despite having been killed, this means that you are “my Lord and my God”.

In what happened to Thomas, the “school of faith” is enriched with a new element. Divine revelation, Jesus’s question and man’s response end in the disciple’s personal encounter with the living Christ, with the Risen One. This encounter is the beginning of a new relationship between each one of us and Christ, a relationship in which each of us comes to the vital realization that Christ is Lord and God; not only the Lord and God of the world and of humanity, but the Lord and God of my own individual human life.

[Pope John Paul II, vigil at Tor Vergata, 19 August 2000]

We have to get out of ourselves and go onto the streets of mankind to discover that the wounds of Jesus are still visible today on the bodies of all those brothers and sisters who are hungry, thirsty, naked, humiliated, enslaved, in prison and in hospital. And precisely by touching these wounds, by caressing them, it is possible to 'adore the living God in our midst'.

The anniversary of the feast of St Thomas the Apostle offered Pope Francis the opportunity to return to a concept that is particularly close to his heart: putting his hands into the flesh of Jesus. The gesture of Thomas putting his finger into the wounds of the risen Jesus was in fact the central theme of the homily given during the Mass celebrated this morning, Wednesday 3 July, in the chapel of the Domus Sanctae Marthae. Concelebrating with the Pope, among others, was Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran, president of the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue, who accompanied a group of employees of the dicastery.

After the readings (Ephesians 2:19-22; Psalm 116; John 20:24-29), the Holy Father first of all dwelt on the different attitudes taken by the disciples "when Jesus, after the resurrection, showed up": some were happy and cheerful, others doubtful.

Unbelieving was also Thomas to whom the Lord showed himself only eight days after that first apparition. "The Lord," said the Pope in explaining this delay, "knows when and why he does things. To each one he gives the time he thinks most opportune". To Thomas he gave eight days; and he wanted the wounds to still appear on his own body, even though it was "clean, beautiful, full of light", precisely because the apostle, the Pope recalled, had said that if he did not put his finger in the Lord's wounds he would not believe. "He was a stubborn man! But the Lord,' the Pontiff commented, 'wanted precisely a stubborn man to make us understand a greater thing. Thomas saw the Lord, he was invited to put his finger in the plague of nails, to put his hand in his side. But then he did not say, 'It is true, the Lord is risen'. No. He went further, he said: 'My Lord and my God'. He was the first of the disciples to make the confession of Christ's divinity after the resurrection. And he worshipped him'.

From this confession, the bishop of Rome explained, we understand what God's intention was: exploiting unbelief led Thomas not so much to affirm the resurrection of Jesus, but rather his divinity. "And Thomas," said the Pope, "worships the Son of God. But to adore, to find God, the Son of God had to put his finger in the wounds, put his hand at his side. This is the path'. There is no other.

Of course 'in the history of the Church,' the Pontiff continued in his explanation, 'there have been some mistakes on the path to God. Some have believed that the living God, the God of Christians" could be found by going "higher in meditation". But this is "dangerous; how many get lost on that path and do not arrive?" the Pope said. "They arrive, yes, perhaps, at the knowledge of God, but not of Jesus Christ, Son of God, second Person of the Trinity," he pointed out. They do not arrive at that. It is the path of the Gnostics: they are good, they work, but that is not the right path, it is very complicated" and does not lead to a good end.

Others, continued the Holy Father, "have thought that to reach God we must be good, mortified, austere and have chosen the path of penance, only penance, fasting. Even these have not arrived at the living God, at Jesus Christ the living God". These, he added, "are the Pelagians, who believe that by their own effort they can arrive. But Jesus tells us this: 'On the way we saw Thomas. But how can I find Jesus' wounds today? I cannot see them as Thomas saw them. You find the sores of Jesus by doing works of mercy, by giving to the body, the body and also the soul, but I emphasise to the body of your brother who is soiled, because he is hungry, because he is thirsty, because he is naked, because he is humiliated, because he is a slave, because he is in prison, because he is in hospital. Those are the wounds of Jesus today. And Jesus asks us to make an act of faith in him through these wounds'.

It is not enough, the Pope added, to establish "a foundation to help everyone", nor to do "many good things to help them". All this is important, but it would only be the behaviour of philanthropists. Instead, Pope Francis said, "we must touch the wounds of Jesus, we must caress the wounds of Jesus. We must tend the wounds of Jesus with tenderness. We must literally kiss the wounds of Jesus". St Francis' life, he recalled, changed when he embraced the leper because he "touched the living God and lived in adoration". "What Jesus asks us to do with our works of mercy," the Pontiff concluded, "is what Thomas had asked: to enter into the wounds.

[Pope Francis at s. Marta, in L'Osservatore Romano of 04.07.2013]

(Mt 9:1-8)

The episode testifies to the hard clash between synagogue and the first fraternities of Faith, where without prior conditions of ritual or legal purity everyone was invited to share canteen and the breaking of Bread.

On the ideal proxy of the Lord, in the churches of Galilee and Syria there was already a fraternal practice [unknown to others] of mutual forgiveness and even cancellation of debts incurred, up to the communion of goods.

Reality able to get back on its feet and make any person proceed, even the miserable - starting from their conscience (v.2), suffocated by a religion that emphaized the sense of unworthiness.

According to popular belief, the conditions of scarcity or misfortune were a punishment.

Conversely, Jesus is the One who restores a horizon of authenticity to believing, new awareness and hope to the person suffering from paralysis - that is, unable to go towards God and towards men.

«Having risen, take your bed and go to your house» (v.6; cf. Mk 2:11; Lk 5:24).

Starting from what we are - already full of resources, beyond all appearances - we live by faith the state of the «Son of man»: that of the ‘risen’ sons, those who manifest person in fullness [in the divine condition].

In Christ we can free ourselves from the constraints that made us live horizontal and ankylosed.

Recovering dignity, we can now stand upright and promote life; then return to the House that is truly ours (vv.6-7; cf. Mk 2:10-12; Lk 9:24-25).

The whole story of the people was conditioned by obsessions with impurity and sin.

Instead, the Master reveals that the divine propensity is only to forgive in order to value - and the attitude of the man of Faith, be reborn again and help to do so.

In fact, the gratuitousness of the Father can be seen from the action of expectation and understanding exercised by the men of God: those able to chisel healthy environments.

Not only by their own’s virtue, but because tolerance introduces new forces, unknown; different powers, which overturn situations.

They allow other creative energies to pass and regenerate the malfunctioning - vice versa deadly, unfortunately, where we do not promote each other.

Only Jesus is the One who makes visible and evident the healing that seemed impossible mission. And before physics, making us flourish again from the fears of false devotion, which imposes absurd embankments on autonomy.

His proposal does not sink us under a heap of impersonal arrogances. The Lord heals the blocked, puts them back in the race.

Imperfection is not an expression of guilt, but a condition - and in any case sin is not an absolute force (v.3).

On the contrary, the impediment becomes a paradoxical reason to seek 'therapy', and vis-à-vis. Unthinkable, perhaps offensive, for the outline.

Eccentric configurations - thought to be miserable - do indeed contain secret doors, immense virtues, and the cure itself.

Indeed, they lead to a new existence. They urge, and “oblige” us to an immediate relationship with our Lord. Almost as if seeking His ‘likeness’.

Unusual crossroads of Tenderness and Faith.

[Thursday 13th wk. in O.T.  July 2, 2026]

(Mt 9:1-8)

The episode bears witness to the harsh clash between synagogue and early Faith fraternities, where without prior conditions of ritual or legal purity all were invited to share the table and the breaking of bread.

On the Lord's ideal delegation, in the churches of Galilee and Syria, a fraternal practice (unknown to others) of mutual forgiveness and even cancellation of contracted debts, up to the communion of goods, was already in force.

Realities capable of putting any person back on their feet and moving forward, even the wretched - starting with their conscience (v.2), stifled by a religion that accentuated the sense of unworthiness.

According to popular belief, conditions of penury or misfortune were a punishment.

Jesus, on the other hand, is the One who restores a horizon of authenticity to believing, new awareness and hope to the person suffering from paralysis - that is, unable to go towards God and towards men.

"Having risen, take up your bed and go to your house" (v.6; cf. Mk 2:11; Lk 5:24).

Starting from what we are - already resourceful, beyond all appearances - we live by Faith the state of the "Son of Man": that of the risen, those who manifest man in fullness (in the divine condition).

In Christ we can free ourselves from the constraints that made us live horizontal and ankylosed.

Recovering dignity, we can now stand upright and promote life; thus return to the House that is truly ours (vv.6-7; cf. Mk 2:10-12; Lk 9:24-25).

For the experts, the forgiveness announced by the Lord is not only an offence against their supposed prestige and spiritual rank, but a sacrilege and blasphemy.

After all, how to appeal to the masses - on the part of these destructive leaders - if not by intimidating them and making them feel inadequate, sterile, incapable, unempowered, with no way out?

The whole life of the people was conditioned by obsessions of impurity and sin.

Instead, the Master reveals that the divine propensity is only to forgive in order to enhance - and the attitude of - the man of Faith, to be born again and to help do so.

Indeed, the Father's gratuitousness is seen in the action of expectation and understanding exercised by the men of God: those capable of chiselling healthy environments.

Not only by their own virtue, but because tolerance introduces new, unknown forces; different powers, which overturn situations.

They allow other creative and regenerating energies to flow through the unhealthy - vice versa deadly, unfortunately, where one does not promote oneself.

Only Jesus is the One who makes visible and manifest the healing that seemed mission impossible. And before the physical, making us flourish again from the fears of false devotion, which imposes absurd curbs on autonomy.

His proposal does not drown us under a heap of impersonal arrogance. It heals the blocked, puts them back in the race.

"Jesus has the power not only to heal the sick body, but also to forgive sins; and indeed, physical healing is a sign of the spiritual healing that his forgiveness produces. Indeed, sin is a kind of paralysis of the spirit from which only the power of God's merciful love can free us, enabling us to get back up and get back on the path of good" [Pope Benedict, Angelus 22 February 2009].

The Lord's "brothers" (cf. parallel passages Mt 9:1-8 and Lk 5:17-26) do all they can to lead the needy to the Master.

Often, however, they find themselves before a crowd of hijackers of the Sacred that does not allow for a face-to-face, personal, immediate relationship.

The critical impetus and love for the needs of the needy for a full life must then overcome the sense of 'cultural', moral, doctrinal and ritual belonging - which only traces and reiterates.

No sign of joy from the authorities (Mt 9:3; Mk 2:6-8; Lk 5:21) - but the people are enthusiastic (Mt 9:8; Mk 2:12; Lk 5:26). Why?

Jesus teaches and heals. He does not proclaim the God of religions, but a Father - an attractive figure, who does not threaten, nor punish, but welcomes, dialogues, forgives, makes grow.

The opposite of what was conveyed by the official guides, linked to the idea of an archaic, suspicious and prejudiced divinity, which discriminated between friend and foe.

The Father expresses himself in non-oppressive forms, in the manner of the family and inter-human covenant: he does not enjoy the perfect, sterilised and pure - he offers his Love to all without requirements.

For imperfection is not an expression of guilt, but a condition - and in any case sin is not an absolute force (v.3).

It is this awareness that gives rise to liberated people and a new order: 'to forge bonds of unity, of common projects, of shared hopes' [Fratelli Tutti, n.287].

The Lord's co-workers bring to Him all the paralytics, that is, those who are stuck and continue to lie in their stretchers (where perhaps those of common opinion have laid them down).

These are people whose lives seem to proceed neither in the direction of the true God nor to others. Nor can they meet themselves.

Only personal contact with Christ can release these vegetating corpses from their depressing pond.

The friends of God "presented him a paralytic, lying on a bed" (Mt 9:2): they come from everywhere, from the four cardinal points (cf. Mk 2:3); from very different, even opposite origins - which you do not expect.

They expose themselves to lead the needy to the Master, but sometimes find themselves in front of an impermeable crowd (precisely, of kidnappers of the Sacred) that does not allow a direct, face-to-face personal relationship.

They do not let us in - instead we want to put ourselves before Him (v.4): sometimes we are like blackmailers and subjected to procedures, otherwise you do not pass; you are out.

Paraphrasing Pope Francis's third encyclical again, we could say that even in the selective or hierarchical access paths of the Faith "the lack of dialogue means that no one, in the individual sectors, is concerned with the common good, but rather with obtaining the advantages that power procures, or, at best, with imposing one's own way of thinking" [no.202].

The Faith thinks and believes in "an open world where there is room for everyone, which includes the weakest and respects different cultures" [FT no.155].

Some insufferable 'synagogues' conversely advocate 'a binary division' [FT No.156] that attempts to classify.

There are exclusive, refractory cliques and clubs which claim to appropriate poor Jesus... backwards.

Hence their 'synagogues' or 'houses of prayer' must be uncovered and thrown wide open (v.4) - with extreme decision.

Such 'seats' turn God's presence on earth upside down and disrupt the lives of the derelicts, who have real urgencies - not interest in cultivating unintelligible formulas, cultic purities or other sophistications.

No more proper compliments, and 'proper' customary procedures!

Only in this way does man regenerate and discover his own divine powers - which are then the humanising ones: to put himself and his brothers and sisters back on their feet.

With Christ, one advances without any more regulated authorisations to beg (sometimes to scandalous dummies) that make life pale.

So, let us note that there are no steps taken, but only the unusual initiative overcomes the pond of devout structures taken hostage by regulars or disembodied thinkers. Where one would only have to queue up, wait one's turn, be content... and doze off or disperse.

The critical impetus and love for the full, discerning life needs of all of us in need must overcome the sense of feigned collective compactness. 

It must outclass all 'cultural', moral, doctrinal and ritualistic affiliations - which it only makes up and reiterates.

Indeed, no sign of joy from the authorities (Mt 9:3; Mk 2:6-8; Lk 5:21) - but the people are enthusiastic (Mt 9:8; Mk 2:12; Lk 5:26).

It is obvious that the customary people judge Jesus a blasphemer: they have been educated "in this fear and distrust" [FT no.152].

They do not love humanity, but rather their doctrines, their codes, their milestones; a few beautiful rubrics - from purely ritualistic holiness. All papier-mâché.

They do not protect people, but only their self-interested connections, correct protocols, and acquired positions; possibly fashions of thought for their own benefit - that hinder our development.

In short, we are called to choose in a very unusual way, compared to the cliché of popular moralistic preaching - which has never been able to reconcile esteem... with imperfection, error, diversity.

According to the Gospels, there is another, decisive crossroads: the path of the defence of the privileges of a caste that gags God in the name of God, or the path of the impelling, universal desire to live to the full.

To this we are called, as opposed to conformist ways: to choose in an unusual, profound and decisive way, to reconcile uniqueness, truth, imperfection, our exceptionalism.

Otherwise, the soul rebels. It wants to be with Jesus in a frontal position, not behind the crowd, albeit of believers (whether démodé or à la page).

The passage from the Synoptics makes it clear that the problem of the 'paralytic' is not his discomfort, his sense of oppression, his apparent misfortune.

These are not the breaks in his relationship with life and with God.

On the contrary, the impediment becomes a paradoxical motive for seeking 'therapy', and vis-à-vis. Unthinkable, perhaps offensive, for the outline.

In fact, eccentric configurations - considered miserable - contain secret doors, immense virtues, and the cure itself.

Indeed, they lead to a new existence. They urge, and 'oblige' us to an immediate relationship with our Lord. Almost as if seeking His likeness.

Breathing in the common thought and tracing the trajectories of others, even those considered "intimate to God", the stiffening would have remained.

No unpredictable Salvation would have broken through.In short, according to the Gospels there is only one non-negotiable, crossroads, decisive value: the desire to live fully, in a truly integrated way; in the first person.

Unusual crossroads of Tenderness and Faith.

To internalise and live the message:

What arouses your sense of admiration for the Power of God? Are you excited by physical or inner miracles?

Where do you most frequently hear: "My son, your sins are forgiven (...) Rise up and walk"? Do the others seem to you to be healthy spiritual civilisations?

What kind are your works of faith? In sectors?

Marked by successful milestones and negotiations with the wary installed (so that they are accepted and mistaken for Tenderness)?

Double Healing

The passage from the Gospel of St Matthew, which is read on the 18th Sunday after Pentecost, provides the Holy Father with a high topic for his Homily.

It is one of the many episodes from the life of the Lord, which prepare us to be fervently united with Him and to celebrate the Divine Mysteries well.

Each page of the Gospel has its own focal, dramatic point, around which the scene of the recalled episode and the faithful account revolve.

For the prodigious and instantaneous healing of the paralytic, the apostle St Matthew is more sober than the other synoptics, St Mark and St Luke. These add more extensive details, including that of the opening of the roof in the room where Jesus was, in order to lower the sick man with his bed, given the enormous crowd that was crowding the entrance.

The hope of the pitiful companions is evident: they almost want to force Jesus to take care of the unexpected guest and begin a dialogue with him.

THE TWOFOLD HEALING OF THE PARALYTIC

Here we immediately find ourselves at a peak of wonder and grace. The Lord, with a very sweet, beautiful, regenerative word, addresses the paralytic, saying: 'Trust, you thread . . .": Have confidence, my son. And then? Behold: "Remittuntur tibi peccata tua": Your sins are forgiven you. Amazement of all present. It was not for this that they had brought the sick man, but that he might be freed from his immobility. They did not expect Jesus to speak of the poor man's sins: were sins, then, an impediment to healing?

Jesus reads the hearts of those around him: his first concern is to remove the moral sickness, and he declares this. Hence, after the first surprise, other comments and criticisms, indeed the bitter and vehement rebuke. Who is it that forgives sins? Only God can forgive them; God alone can settle the accounts between Him and creatures. Why, then, the arbitrary, indeed, the reckless act, even a blasphemy? Then Jesus, seeing their thoughts, adds: "Why do you think evil in your hearts? What is easier to say: your sins are forgiven you, or to say: get up, and walk?". In the same instant he also performs the physical miracle, saying to the paralytic: 'Arise, take up your bed and return to your home'.

The most interesting point, in this episode, is that Jesus, in front of an immobilised and unhappy poor man, discovers an even greater unhappiness, an even more acute misery. He wants, first of all, to take care of his moral health; and, good and omnipotent in the highest degree, He performs the miracle of spiritual healing before the physical one.

He himself makes the comparison: Which of the two healings is the easier? Of the soul or of the body?: and concludes by showing that the well-being of the spirit is far more important than the physical.

This gives rise to some questions about one of the most interesting aspects of the Gospel.

What does Jesus see in men? Jesus entered the world and converses with us, the human race. Well, how does he judge us? What does his eye discern in us? As we examine ourselves, we see that before Jesus there is no secret. For Him everything is transparent. Indeed, if we want to understand something beautiful in the Gospel, we will always have to think that the scenes unfolding around Jesus have a crystal-clear, singular, inimitable clarity for Him, Jesus sees everything. St John, in one of the first chapters of his Gospel, states precisely that the Saviour sciebat quid esset in homine. Jesus knows what is in man. During His earthly life, men stand before Him in transparency. Jesus passes through them with his gaze and fully knows what they are, what they do, what they think: 'Deus intuetur cor': God discerns the heart.

GOD'S GAZE INTO THE HUMAN HEART

The permanent quest, so accentuated in modern man, to intuit the secret of man, to know everything about him, in Jesus is an infallible, divine endowment. He knows human reality in its entirety and in its deepest and most arcane individual notes. He opens wide all the secret doors of our inner hiding places; our thoughts are manifest to Him: nothing, nothing can be concealed from Him. To appear, therefore, before Him and be considered in every detail is an instantaneous fact, for He observes and judges everything in us.

And then we can ask ourselves: But, then, what does He see? The positive values and faults of man. In children Jesus sees an angelic innocence and rejoices in it, because they are the authentic citizens of the heavenly kingdom. In the little ones, the Son of God detects the harmonious nature that his creative hand has imprinted in these innocent creatures. He therefore immensely enjoys their companionship, vivacity and enchantment; in a word, the beauty of God reflected in the human face.

And again: what do you notice, for example, in the Samaritan woman? Even that poor creature is dismayed. Oh yes! - she exclaims - this Prophet has read my spirit: he knows who I am! And here she goes, crying out to her countrymen: a great Prophet has come; he has said everything about my life without knowing me! What, moreover, will the Divine Master see in the imploring Magdalene whom everyone would like to crush with contempt and ruthless public accusation? Poor humanity to be redeemed and saved. Deus dilexit mundum! God observes the depths of the human heart, which, even beneath the surface of sin and disorder, still possesses a wonderful wealth of love; Jesus with his gaze draws it out, makes it overflow from the oppressed soul. To Jesus, therefore, nothing escapes of what is in men, of their total reality, in which good and evil are.

INCONSISTENCIES AND DISTORTIONS IN HUMAN THINKING

The second question is: And what do men, with their modern education, see? They are also inconsistent here. First of all, you will no longer find in the language of decent people today, in books, in the things that speak of men, the dreadful word that, on the other hand, is so frequent in the religious world, in our world, especially in the world close to God: the word sin. Men, in today's judgements, are no longer considered sinners. They are catalogued as healthy, sick, good, strong, weak, rich, poor, wise, ignorant; but the word sin is never encountered. And it does not return because, having detached the human intellect from divine wisdom, the concept of sin has been lost. One of the most penetrating and serious words of the Supreme Pontiff Pius XII of v. m. is this: 'the modern world has lost the sense of sin'; that is, what the rupture of relations with God, caused precisely by sin, is. The world no longer intends to dwell on such relationships. And so contemporary philosophy of man starts from an aprioristic optimism. What, for example, does pedagogy say? Man is good; it is society that will make him bad; but, in itself, let him develop spontaneously and in a favourable environment, he will be, by nature, probable and virtuous. Thus is adopted as the norm, a very liberal, very easy indulgence, which paves the way for all sorts of experiences and caprices, since, admitting all rights in man, he must be allowed to express them in his individual faculties. Evil, therefore, does not exist. This famous original sin - which is the first truth about man - is no longer admitted and described in the diagnosis that the world today wants to draw of itself.

And here is the inconsistency. While the point of departure is so certain, the point of arrival, the terminal judgement that our world makes on man, what is it? We are not engaging in psychoanalysis here, we are merely adhering to literary documentation: and we are not mistaken in asserting that the judgement given, today, by man of himself, with his own richest and most persistent testimony, one might even say, the most monotonous, is that of despair: thus, looked at from within, man is a horrible thing. How often do those who present themselves before us with a sympathetic, good-natured, naive appearance, hide, on the contrary, the most putrid and deformed whitewashed sepulchre!

See if there is an optimistic film in the modern production; see if there is a single presentable book in the literary prizes, precisely in these exceedingly copious times, that declares that man is still good, that virtues still exist. On the contrary, the analysis of the mire, of human perversion, is rampant; and with it, the tacit, but inexorable sentence, given as definitive: man is incurable. Here is the dark consequence. One comes to regard man as an unhappy being. Following the direction of these eyes that become implacable and even discerning, one finds nothing but evil, always and desperately evil!

LET THE DIVINE IMAGE SHINE IN EVERY SOUL

Jesus also sees: and he looks at us, who are of the poor people with so many ills. To the paralytic who comes before him, he explains that there are paralyses even more serious and more severe than the physical one. You have many sins: I forgive you, I forgive you! Jesus is the absolute deliverer. He, having urged in us, with this light of his, an examination of conscience, through which guilt is felt but also redemption, enters the soul like a torrent of joy, goodness and love. If you want it,' he comforts us, 'I will give you back your integrity, your innocence, the grace to truly feel what you must be, restored to your stature, your original beauty, and as the Lord created you in his image and likeness.

Jesus is the divine author of the ineffable redemption: one understands, then, how the Gospel, as long as there is a world of men troubled by their own sins, misery, unhappiness, despair, the very Gospel among men will always stir an echo that can never fade. Why? Because not only is it a word of truth - and here men agree - but it is also a light of hope that men cannot give to themselves.

What shall we do, in order to grasp something useful and salutary from today's Gospel page? We will try to let the Lord look at us; to present ourselves to Him with sincere humility. It is the examination of conscience, let us say more: it is the approaching of that sacrament of penance, which truly scrutinises our innermost being and restores truth and justice to our souls. Everyone may say: with the groaning of pain I would not know how to heal myself; but if Thou wilt, O Lord, Thy word is enough.

"TRUST, THREADS"

That word will never fail us. God's mercy is an inexhaustible source that Christ brought into the world precisely with the desire, the eagerness to seek us out, to chase us and repeat to us: I loved you; I came for you, so that you might understand who you are and how crippled and wretched you are. But trust, O son, these your miseries are forgiven you. Indeed: with the moral miseries to a great extent the physical ones may also be healed. Think what would be the face of the world, if men's sins were removed, if moral faults were removed! It is not that they are two consequent things: on other pages of the Gospel, the Lord will say that physical misfortune is not, in itself, fatally linked to moral misfortune. Just remember the man born blind, just think of the many sufferings of the righteous. The fact remains, however, that if the many moral miseries were healed, our life would be much better, much healthier, and more hygienic even; it would be much happier. The unity of man is a reality: it involves interference between one world and the other: the moral and the material; the inner and the outer.

That is why today we will go to Jesus, offering the Divine Sacrifice: we too will present ourselves before Him like the paralytic. With all humility we will ask Him to renew trust in His omnipotence and goodness in our souls. Each one will plead: Lord, save me: You alone have words of eternal life.

(Pope Paul VI, homily 20 September 1964)

Jesus has the power not only to heal a sick body but also to forgive sins; indeed, the physical recovery is a sign of the spiritual healing that his forgiveness produces. Sin is effectively a sort of paralysis of the spirit from which only the power of God's merciful love can set us free, allowing us to rise again and continue on the path of goodness.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 22 February 2009]

1. A text by Saint Augustine offers us the key to interpreting Christ's miracles as signs of his saving power: "The fact that he became man for us has been of much greater benefit to our salvation than the miracles he performed among us; and it is more important than the fact that he healed the diseases of the body destined to die" (S. Augustini, In Io. Ev. Tr., 17, 1). In order to this health of the soul and the redemption of the whole world, Jesus also performed miracles of a corporal order. And so the theme of the present catechesis is as follows: through the "miracles, wonders and signs" he performed, Jesus Christ manifested his power to save man from the evil that threatens the immortal soul and his vocation to union with God.

2. This is what is revealed in a special way in the healing of the paralytic in Capernaum. The people who brought him, unable to enter through the door into the house where Jesus teaches, lower the sick man through an opening in the roof, so that the poor man comes to stand at the feet of the Master. "Jesus, seeing their faith, said to the paralytic, 'Son, your sins are forgiven you'". These words arouse suspicion of blasphemy in some of those present: "This man blasphemes! Who can forgive sins but God alone?". Almost in response to those who had thought so, Jesus addresses those present with the words: "What is easier: to say to the paralytic: Your sins are forgiven, or to say: Get up, take up your bed, and walk? Now, so that you may know that the Son of Man has the power on earth to forgive sins, I command you,' he said to the paralytic, 'Get up, take up your cot, and go to your house. He got up, took up his cot, and went out in the presence of all" (cf. Mk 2:1-12 and also Mt 9:1-8; Lk 5:18-26; Lk 5:25).

Jesus himself explains here that the miracle of healing the paralytic is a sign of the saving power by which he forgives sins. Jesus performs this sign to show that he has come as the Saviour of the world, whose main task is to free man from spiritual evil, the evil that separates man from God and prevents salvation in God, which is precisely sin.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 11 November 1987]

To us too, Jesus says: “Rise, take your life as it is; take it up and go on. Do not fear; go on with your pallet — ‘But, Lord, it is not the latest model...’ — Go on, with that pallet”, which may be “ugly, perhaps, but go on! It is your life; it is your joy”.

Thus, the first question the Lord asks everyone today is: “Do you want to be healed?”. And if the answer is “Yes, Lord”, Jesus exhorts: “Rise!”. Thus, the Pontiff concluded, recalling the antiphon of the day’s Mass (“All who are thirsty, come to the waters ... though you have no money, come and drink with joy”), if “we say to the Lord: ‘Yes, I want to be healed. Yes, Lord, help me; I want to get up’, we will know what the joy of salvation is”.

[Pope Francis, at St. Martha 28 March 2017]

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

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (88/89)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul  [29 June 2026]

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

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

Responsorial Psalm (33/34)

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

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

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

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

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

+Giovanni D’Ercole

                                                                                                                                                         The ham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They can be seductive or even provocative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The literature often refers to ‘hysterical blindness’.

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

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

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

Dr Francesco Giovannozzi, Psychologist and Psychotherapist.