Jn 3:16-18(7-21)

 

Lifting up the Cross goes far beyond resilience.

 

Going up and going down, going beyond or retreating

(Gospel of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross: Jn 3:13-17)

 

Nothing doing, despite two millennia of Christian symbols, formulas and rituals, especially in Italy, we remain stuck in the same old rut: Guelphs against Ghibellines, even as a shaky fate looms.

Why is our faith so narrow-minded and incapable of freeing us from occasional quibbles? Why, even as we are heading towards a mountain of debt, do we continue to behave like those who never stop feeding off each other?

We need a beautiful conversion, with the pyramids of 'primacy' and glory overturned: the arrogant, aggressive, intransigent and powerful becoming humble, meek, benevolent and weak.

Never be in need? Be in great need! All the more reason to cling to the Crucified One.

After all, one of Francis' first companions, Brother Egidio, said: "The way to go up is to go down." We ask ourselves: what is the meaning of this paradox?

 

Today's feast is called the Exaltation (or Invention, from the Latin: discovery). The Gospel, however, speaks of 'Lifting up'.

Certainly, this is synonymous with being seen and noticed, but in a 'contrary way'. So, how can we elevate our lives by fixing our gaze on Jesus crucified? The passage about Nicodemus suggests an answer.

The doctor of the Law, a Pharisee and member of the Sanhedrin, is 'in the night' because he has been miseducated about the normal idea of a successful man: if God is 'someone', then his followers must also resemble him in attributes of possession, power and glory.

However, the moment comes when even popular or theological customs and the antiquated way of seeing things are shaken by doubt, by the alternative offered by Christ.

Is it really the person who evolves who imposes himself? Is the successful man really the one who rises above others - treated as a stool - or is it not perhaps the one who has the freedom to come down and let us breathe?

All with spontaneity and fluidity, without effort: imposing on oneself a ladder of renunciation and pain is not therapeutic and does not bring out the best in us. On the contrary, it separates us from the plasticity and simplicity that produce the best things in the world.

The Cross is not a standard discipline of purification, such as wanting to change your life, fix your relationships by stifling your inconsistencies, setting your mind on achieving goals and succeeding (even spiritually) at all costs...

These are the usual clichéd improvement programmes that often make us unnatural, full of artifice, and unable to be open with ourselves, and therefore with others.

In Christ, the Cross opens up new horizons because it no longer takes anything for granted. It is a new Judgment, global and based on merit.

Other possibilities emerge, which allow us to encounter the change that solves real problems - precisely in the midst of disorderly vacillations.

When lived in Faith, this wavering mixture is a deeply energetic, malleable and evolutionary reality.

It does lead to a situation of chaos and disorder, but out of this emerges a better relationship with our actions and our destiny, even recovering everything we thought was unattainable.

This happens in the uncertainty that brings us closer to our essence - in the days when events become serious and we call for resources, fresh air and more solid relationships.

We then need to take a leap forward, not retreat [staying where we are and turning in on ourselves to identify problems and flaws, then correcting them in a hasty and unnatural way...].

This would be an absurd waste of virtue and opportunities for growth in the search for our territory.

Even on the spiritual path, in fact, we do everything to achieve a full life, total fulfilment and strong freedom. Not to be seen as perfect.

The passage through a climate of social contempt will be inevitable.

The Crucified One does not say 'how we should be and are not yet' (in a conventional way): because we approach our Vocation only if we surprise ourselves and others - precisely when common and conformist opinion judges us to be inconsistent.

This does not mean that we are rejecting the gallows.

Situations of condemnation can become creative, so the gallows that belong to us in that situation - even if it compromises our reputation - should not torment our soul beyond measure.

Misadventures, upheavals, adversity, bitter circumstances... reshape the soul and our point of view, calling into question the idea (we have already formed) of ourselves.

They open up, indeed they throw open, astonishing new paths - realisations that would otherwise have been stifled from the outset by external convictions.

This is why there is something paradoxical and absurd in Jesus' proposal: in order to grow, to reach fulfilment and completeness, one must lose; one must not be opportunistic, quick to act or take advantage. These are all insipid and childish attitudes that do not regenerate, that bring us back to friction and unreliable conformism, and accentuate them.

The logic of the Cross is disconcerting: at first glance, it seems to humiliate us. On the contrary, it protects us from the poison of vain religiosity, good manners and bad habits.

Empty, consolatory or merely theatrical spirituality produces conflictual but inert environments [they make us give up: useless and infesting].

 

Everyone knows that we must learn to accept the inevitable adversities of existence. But this is not the meaning of the Cross.

God does not redeem through pain, but through Love - the kind that does not fold up and crumple, but expands life and unexpressed abilities.

The providential Cross is not given by God, but actively taken up and accepted by the disciple. In the Gospels, it signifies the acceptance of the inevitable shame that follows Jesus - even in a comically vain, albeit papier-mâché, setting.

For those who choose to be themselves in a world of appearances and reputation, the (external) fate of persecution, misunderstanding, mockery and slander, lack of credit and laurels - as if we were failures - is sealed.

But in the Judgment of the Crucified One, this is the right position to become children who find human fulfilment, stand firm in their important choices, and bear corresponding fruit: often the best time of their lives.

A free gift, for a Life Saved, the Cross redeems us from the attractions of social appreciation, which readily bestows ample credit on the trivial and extrinsic, but which stifles our complete personal growth.

It saves us from the dangers of pedestals that crumble, on which it is not worth continuing to climb in order to be noticed and uselessly - astutely - to please. Just as any manipulator who loves power would do; even pious, full of attributes of vigour, but inexorably old and doomed to death - bogged down and sterile - incapable of generating new creatures and reviving himself.

The best opportunities for development, fulfilment and completion emerge from sides of ourselves and situations we do not want. Indeed, even from deep wounds that affect our entire way of being, doing and appearing.

It is not the end of the world. Today, the global crisis has already destroyed our powerful appearance, yet it is allowing the virtue of our fragile side to shine through, previously overshadowed by the demands of social appearances.

Here is the Crucified One, who bleeds not only to heal, soften and remove burdens, but to overturn, replace horizons and supplant the entire system of habitual conformism; and even so-called alternative 'points', ways of thinking that seemed to be something else entirely.

All this, through Faith. Not with tension and a specific plan, but through a baptismal attitude towards the new integrity that is coming: given, accepted, recognised.

Thus, the Cross embraced saves us.

It seems like sabotage to our 'infallible' side, but it is the antidote to a city slumbering on the same paths as before - in the usual ways of being and taking the field (now without a future).

Lifting the Cross goes far beyond the capacity for resilience.

 

 

«From there he will come to judge»: Genesis Rebirth Judgement

Jn 3:16-21(7-21)

 

Every man faced with the Mystery does not fully understand what he feels until he accepts the challenge and enters into a new existence.

The old life presents only bills to pay, which always re-emerge; conversely, the new Call supplants categories of judgement and normalised choices.

It is like passing through an emptying of the heart.

In fact, the Tao [Way] Tê Ching (xxi) says:

'The containment of those who have the virtue of emptiness is only in accordance with the Tao. For creatures, the Tao is indistinct and indeterminate [...] in its bosom it contains images [...] in its bosom it contains archetypes [...] in its bosom it contains the essence of being! This essence is very genuine [...] and thus consents to all beginnings'.

Outside the cosmic and personal Way, human existence has no generative meaning.

Even the spiritual journey of the experienced and well-integrated stagnates until it can no longer silence the great questions of meaning, its fiction, or its sloth.

Life in the Spirit proceeds through new births and breathes where it wills.

Not according to a progress marked by mechanisms, manners, respectability, skills, or instruction manuals: in a disconcerting way - but it brings different refreshment, and even sudden Peace.

It is a present and active reality, albeit inexplicable, but one that enriches us, allowing us to penetrate or plunge into another configuration of reality.

Another kingdom, which in the 'Son of Man' unites the two worlds.

 

Nicodemus was a master of the Old Testament alone. He controlled every stagnation or progress by comparing them to the wisdom of God's things on the basis of well-known expectations.But it is not uncommon for our growth to proceed in visions and leaps - not even according to natural 'intelligence'. Let alone in the spiritual life.

It is not enough to practise and agree with the ideas of our fathers or with fashionable trends, nor to remain in agreement with normal intentions.

Assimilating the knowledge of others and acquiring expected skills is often just clutter that blocks true development - the kind that belongs to us.

Unfortunately, in religious life we often proceed in a mechanical way, and there seems to be no need to let ourselves be saved or surprised by events.

At most, we expose ourselves to a slight breeze, slaves to earthly languages, limited to the dimension of 'phenomena' that are entirely down to earth - which exclude and dismiss Christ.

In the disorienting adventure of pioneering faith, the divine plan and the radical work of the Son do not unfold in a reasonable way, but rather through boundless love.

This is a level of Eternity that brings those who accept it into a unique one-to-one relationship with the Father and his exuberant Life.

The unit of measurement of the Spirit is different from that of agreed customs. Its impetus is an elusive Wind, 'visible' only in ecclesial and personal effects.

The Secret is 'from above' (v. 7), beyond scale. It lurks in the unpredictability of crossroads, excesses, and new creations.

Bliss does not proceed by boring arguments: it protrudes or fades away.

In this way, one can often hold the Eucharist or the Scriptures in one's hands and not understand that the well-trodden path can only give illusions of spiritual doctorate.

 

'From there he will come to judge' is an article of the Apostles' Creed.

The success or failure of life will be judged 'by the Cross', that is, by the criterion of new perception, self-giving and renewal to the very end.

A reversal of perspectives; a complete change of view.

Source of Hope and a new leap forward: where humiliation is transformed into authentic Birth and the triumph of indestructible Life.

This is the Beatitude that discovers blossoms, hidden treasures and precious pearls behind our dark sides.

Here, even the persecutions of enemies and mockers become vectors that introduce different energies, forcing us to improve.

And it was imagined that divine life belonged only to the heavenly sphere; instead, paradoxically, it comes within our reach.

 

Nicodemus knew that many had fallen victim to pitfalls in the desert, but Jesus makes it clear that the Israelites were not healed for free by a bronze effigy, but by 'lifting up their eyes'.

The Lord refers to this episode and interprets it as the backdrop for his teaching, a symbol of his extreme experience.

Those who contemplate him already have within themselves the full, acute and total meaning of the Scriptures, and the very Life of the Eternal One.

In this sense, it is necessary to be 'born from above', to shift one's contemplative perception, to recognise oneself, and to keep one's eyes fixed on true love.

It is for a new Genesis of our own being and of the criteria by which we stake our lives that the Crucified One becomes the reference point for all our choices.

Not for masochistic pain and false consolation. Not to use it as a trinket, to adorn oneself with it.

Not as an amulet; nor as an emblem placed by force on high ground, indicating the conquest of territories.

Nor is it the sacralisation of an environment or a 'cultural' figure.

 

According to the rabbinic style, Matthew 25 uses the image of the Last Judgement to recall the importance and consequences of the choices we make.

In John, the theme of Judgment seems to be reversed: it is as if we are the ones 'judging' God - in the sense that we are and will find ourselves disarmed in his presence, recognising that his Heart is much greater than ours.

So too in the experience of the life of Faith, which attracts and opens up the impossible future.

The fourth Gospel, in fact, excludes the Father from judging his children. John speaks of a Judgment that takes place in the Present, which is only redemption - exclusively in our favour: for a life of salvation.

"When" God acts, he creates. He justifies: he does something new, global, incomparable.

He does not repeat himself. He brings forth other surpluses, in varied ways, in the fabric of history, 'imposing' right positions - above all where there is no justice.

According to a Wisdom that makes many unexpected opinions heard.

 

Although using different backgrounds and language, both Matthew and John find themselves in the same 'truth' (v. 21).

Judgment is pronounced from the Cross - according to criteria that are different from worldly ones, which are always hasty or mannered (and very banal).

The Lord makes his opinions heard and seen in the face of any event or choice, warning against options that lead to authentic death.

The work of those who mismanage and waste their lives 'will be burned up, and they will be punished, but they themselves will be saved, though only as through fire' (1 Cor 3:15).

The differences are already measured against the Person of the Son. The Judgment has already begun.

 

 

To internalise and live the message:

 

What do you consider to have been your Births? And your authentic choices?

Are you still following the gentle breeze of your ancestors or the fads of the moment?

Are you setting your sails according to the direction of the Wind of the Spirit, which blows away your securities, even those of groups or denominations?

What do you admire, and what have you placed 'high' in your life? Is it perhaps straw that has already been burned?

What has excited you so far, and what did you think would elevate you?

 

 

He loved so much, and He gave

 

"God so loved the world that he gave his only Son" (Jn 3:16). Here is the heart of the Gospel, here is the foundation of our joy. The content of the Gospel, in fact, is not an idea or a doctrine, but Jesus, the Son whom the Father gave us so that we might have life. Jesus is the foundation of our joy: it is not a beautiful theory about how to be happy, but it is the experience of being accompanied and loved on the journey of life. “He so loved the world that he gave his Son.” Let us pause for a moment, brothers and sisters, on these two aspects: “he so loved” and “he gave.”

First of all, God loved so much. These words, which Jesus addressed to Nicodemus – an elderly Jew who wanted to know the Master – help us to see the true face of God. He has always looked upon us with love, and out of love he came among us in the flesh of his Son. In him, he came to seek us in the places where we were lost; in him, he came to lift us up from our falls; in him, he wept our tears and healed our wounds; in him, he blessed our lives forever. Whoever believes in him, the Gospel says, will not be lost (ibid.). In Jesus, God has spoken the definitive word on our lives: you are not lost, you are loved. Always loved.

If listening to the Gospel and practising our faith do not open our hearts to grasp the greatness of this love, and we perhaps slip into a serious, sad, closed religiosity, then it is a sign that we need to stop for a while and listen again to the proclamation of the good news: God loves you so much that He gave you His whole life. He is not a god who looks down on us indifferently from above, but a Father, a Father in love who is involved in our history; he is not a god who rejoices in the death of sinners, but a Father who is concerned that no one should be lost; he is not a god who condemns, but a Father who saves us with the blessing embrace of his love.

And so we come to the second word: God 'gave' his Son. Precisely because he loves us so much, God gives himself and offers us his life. Those who love always go out of themselves – do not forget this: those who love always go out of themselves. Love always offers itself, gives itself, spends itself. The strength of love is precisely this: it shatters the shell of selfishness, breaks down the barriers of overly calculated human security, tears down walls and overcomes fears, in order to give itself. This is the dynamic of love: it is giving itself, giving itself away. Those who love are like this: they prefer to risk giving themselves rather than withering away by holding back. This is why God comes out of himself, because “he so loved”. His love is so great that he cannot help but give himself to us. When the people journeying through the desert were attacked by poisonous snakes, God made Moses make a bronze snake; in Jesus, however, raised on the cross, He himself came to heal us from the poison that brings death, he made himself sin to save us from sin. God does not love us with words: he gives us his Son so that whoever looks at him and believes in him may be saved (cf. Jn 3:14-15).

The more we love, the more we are capable of giving. This is also the key to understanding our lives. It is beautiful to meet people who love one another, who care for one another and share their lives; we can say of them, as we say of God: they love one another so much that they give their lives. It is not only what we can produce or earn that counts, but above all the love we are capable of giving.

And this is the source of joy! God so loved the world that he gave his Son. This is where the invitation that the Church addresses to us on this Sunday takes on meaning: 'Rejoice [...]. Rejoice and be glad, you who were in sorrow: be filled with the abundance of your consolation' (Entrance Antiphon; cf. Is 66:10-11). I think back to what we experienced a week ago in Iraq: a tormented people rejoiced with joy, thanks to God and his mercy.

Sometimes we look for joy where there is none, we look for it in illusions that vanish, in dreams of greatness for ourselves, in the apparent security of material things, in the cult of our image, and in many other things... But life experience teaches us that true joy is feeling loved unconditionally, feeling accompanied, having someone who shares our dreams and who, when we are shipwrecked, comes to rescue us and lead us to a safe harbour.

[Pope Francis, homily on the occasion of the 500th anniversary of the evangelisation of the Philippines, 14 March 2021]