33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [15 November 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Proverbs (31:10–13, 19–20, 30–31)  

This passage, which forms the conclusion of the Book of Proverbs, is one of the biblical texts dedicated to the figure of woman. It does not merely present an ideal wife according to the social standards of the time, but offers a portrait of the wise woman, capable of transforming her faith into concrete acts of love, diligence, solidarity and responsibility. It is an alphabetical poem: in Hebrew, each verse begins with the next letter of the alphabet, from Alef to Tau, and this structure suggests a certain completeness: from the first to the last letter, a model of wisdom is described that encompasses the whole of life. The text presents the so-called ‘eshet chayil’, a Hebrew expression which we can translate as ‘strong woman’, ‘woman of worth’ or ‘virtuous woman’.

The word chayil denotes not only moral virtue, but also strength, ability, courage, valour and competence. She is a woman who possesses inner resources and knows how to put them at the service of life. She is not confined to the home, but is enterprising; she works, trades, organises, helps the poor and takes on responsibilities.

The author begins with a rhetorical question: where can one find a woman of such worth? Worth that is not measured by outward beauty, wealth or social standing, but by the quality of the person; and the comparison with pearls is interesting because, in ancient culture, precious stones represented extraordinary wealth. Yet this woman is worth far more. Today, people’s worth is often measured by their appearance, efficiency, success and ability to produce, whilst the Bible reminds us that a person’s worth does not depend on what they possess, but on who they are and what they are able to give. True beauty is an inner beauty that manifests itself in relationships. The first element that emerges is trust. Her husband can rely on her because he knows he has by his side a loyal, responsible and trustworthy person, and the marital relationship is not built on fear, control or possession, but on mutual trust. The woman is not her husband’s property, but a partner to whom he can entrust his heart, and the text speaks precisely of the heart: in the Bible, the heart is the centre of the person, of their will, feelings and decisions. The strong woman does not seek only her own interests: she desires the good of the other, and the text emphasises continuity: ‘all the days of her life’. It is not, therefore, a love made up solely of exciting moments, but of daily faithfulness; and charity is not measured by grand gestures, but by the perseverance of small acts of kindness. ‘She procures wool and flax and works them willingly with her hands’ (v. 13). Here we are presented with a hard-working and creative woman who is not simply compelled to work, but who puts intelligence, skill and passion into what she does; and verses 19–20 add: ‘She stretches out her hand to the distaff, and her fingers hold the spindle. She opens her palms to the needy; she extends her hand to the poor.’ The distaff and spindle were tools used for spinning wool and linen, whilst manual labour was an important part of the ancient household economy. But the most beautiful detail is the transition from manual labour to solidarity. The hands that work are the same ones that reach out to the poor. There is a profound spiritual lesson here: if work does not become an activity confined to personal interest, it also fosters concern for others. 

‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised’ (v. 30). After describing so many human qualities, the author arrives at the root of them all: the fear of the Lord. The Hebrew expression yir’at Adonai, ‘the fear of the Lord’, is the recognition of his greatness, loving respect, and the awareness that God is the centre and foundation of one’s existence. The woman described in the poem is beautiful above all because she lives before God and allows her relationship with him to guide her choices. Here we find a link to the entire Book of Proverbs, which begins by stating: ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom’ (Prov 1:7). Wisdom does not simply consist in knowing many things, but in knowing how to live according to God’s plan.  ‘Let her children give her thanks for the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her at the city gates’ (v. 31) The poem concludes with a call for public recognition. The city gates were the place where social gatherings, judicial decisions and public matters took place. A woman should not be praised merely within the privacy of the home: the value of her work deserves to be recognised by the whole community, for it is not merely her words that bear witness to her, but her deeds. Although this passage is dedicated to women, it contains a lesson that applies to all people, and we can summarise five key messages: A person’s dignity takes precedence over outward appearance, and one should not be judged by visible qualities, for true worth springs from inner richness. Love is demonstrated through daily faithfulness, expressed in gestures, thoughtfulness, responsibility and perseverance. Work must be at the service of life, for it is not merely a means of earning a living, but can become a collaboration with God in building a more humane world. Solidarity is the sign of true wealth, and those who live in God’s wisdom do not remain indifferent to the suffering of others.

The fear of God is the foundation of all authentic beauty, for a life centred on God acquires a value that does not fade with time.

Responsorial Psalm 126 (127)  

Psalm 126, according to the Greek and liturgical numbering (127 in the Hebrew numbering), belongs to the so-called Psalms of Ascent (Ps 120–134), probably sung by pilgrims travelling up to Jerusalem for the great feasts.

It is a psalm that addresses three fundamental aspects of human life:

The building of the house and the city. Daily work and toil. The family and the gift of children. The central teaching is that man must strive, but cannot consider himself the absolute master of his own life: everything depends on God’s blessing. In the biblical mindset, the ‘house’ refers not only to the physical building, but also to the family, one’s descendants and the stability of life. Man builds, plans, works and organises, but if God is not the foundation, everything risks remaining fragile. The same applies to the city: the watchmen keep vigil, but ultimate security does not come from human vigilance alone. The psalm does not say that we must not build or keep watch, but that we must do so together with God. We may build a beautiful house and yet fail to build a family; we may have many material securities and yet live in inner insecurity. 

‘In vain you rise early in the morning and go to bed late, you who eat the bread of toil.’ Here the psalmist does not condemn work, but warns against the illusion that everything depends on human effort. A person can become a slave to their own work, sacrificing rest, loved ones, family and even their relationship with God. Bread earned through toil is necessary, but it must not become the master of our existence. The following verse contains a beautiful expression: ‘To his beloved he will give it in sleep.’ Life is not merely the result of our efforts: it is, first and foremost, a gift of his providence, and the psalm reminds us that we are not merely what we do, but children loved by God. Learning to rest also means learning to trust. Rest thus becomes an act of faith: we recognise that God continues to watch over our lives even when we are not actively working. ‘Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord; the fruit of the womb is a reward.’ The psalm moves from work to the family. Children are not presented as an achievement or the property of their parents, but as a heritage—that is, a gift received from God. The image of arrows in a quiver (vv. 4–5) emphasises the strength and protection that a large family could represent in the ancient world. Today we can discern a further meaning: children do not belong to their parents as possessions, but are entrusted to their care. They are people to be guided, educated and prepared for life. To bring children into the world does not merely mean giving birth to them: it also means helping them to become free, responsible people capable of love. Parents are not called to mould their children according to their own expectations, but to help them discover their vocation and God’s plan for their lives. This principle can also be extended to spiritual fatherhood and motherhood: priests, consecrated persons, educators and catechists are called to bring others to the faith and to accompany their growth.

This psalm offers three lessons that we can apply to our daily lives: it is not enough to ask God to bless our plans; we must learn to build according to his plan. Our lives do not depend solely on our own abilities, for they are safeguarded by Divine Providence. The people God entrusts to us are not our possessions, but responsibilities and opportunities for love. And we may conclude with a question: If God were to enter the home and family we are building, would He find a central place, or would He have to make do with the space we leave free for Him?

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (5:1–6)

This passage forms part of the discourse on the coming of the Lord and the fate of Christians who have died (1 Thess 4:13–18). After speaking of the resurrection of the dead and the encounter with Christ, Paul addresses a second question: when will all this take place, and what should be the Christian’s attitude whilst waiting? The core of the message is very clear: it is not important to know the day and hour of the Lord’s coming, but to live each day as people who belong to the light. He uses two Greek terms: Chrònoi: the ages, that is, the eras and their duration. Kairòi: the opportune moments, the occasions and the times appointed by God. The distinction is not absolute, but the two terms together denote the totality of time and its fulfilment. The community in Thessalonica was concerned about Christ’s return, and the Christians were living in anticipation of his glorious coming, eager to know when it would happen. Paul does not fuel curiosity about dates and chronological calculations, but shifts the focus from prediction to preparation. This is an important teaching: the Christian faith is not an anxious search for when the end will come, but a call to live the present responsibly. Here we find Paul’s advice not to let ourselves be dominated by fear or speculation, for we must not try to predict the future, but live the present in a holy manner. Paul notes that ‘The Day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night’ (v. 2). The expression ‘Day of the Lord’ has a long history in biblical tradition. In the Old Testament, it refers to the moment when God intervenes in history to judge evil, save his people and manifest his lordship. The prophet Amos, for example, warns those who long for the Day of the Lord without realising that it will also be a day of judgement (cf. 5:18). In the New Testament, this expectation finds its fulfilment in the glorious coming of Christ. Paul uses the image of a thief arriving at night, and the night represents above all unpredictability and surprise, given that human life is characterised by the unexpected. The Christian question is not when the Lord will come, but: if he were to come today, would he find me ready to welcome him? ‘When people say, “There is peace and security!”, then sudden destruction will overtake them’ (v. 3). Here, Paul introduces a clear contrast: on the one hand, we find tranquillity and security; on the other, the sudden onset of destruction. The expression ‘peace and security’ may also recall the language of Roman imperial propaganda, which presented the Empire as the guarantor of peace and order. Paul warns against the false sense of security held by those who think that economic, political and social structures can guarantee absolute stability. The reference to the labour pains of a pregnant woman adds an important detail: childbirth is inevitable and cannot be stopped by human will. The Christian’s true security does not lie in the absence of problems, but in the certainty of belonging to Christ. ‘But you, brothers and sisters, are not in darkness, so that that day should surprise you like a thief’ (v. 4). Here we find a turning point in Paul’s discourse. Having spoken of those who live under the illusion of security, the apostle addresses Christians directly: ‘But you’. They, too, do not know when that day will come, but the difference lies in the awareness that they are not in darkness because they have received the light of the Gospel and belong to Christ. To be in the light means to live in the truth, in communion with God, whilst to be in darkness means to live without reference to God, allowing oneself to be dominated by selfishness, sin and the illusion of self-sufficiency.  ‘You are all children of the light and children of the day’ (v. 5). This is one of the most beautiful expressions in the passage. In biblical language, being children of the light means belonging to Christ, who is the light of the world (John 8:12). Christians must not merely seek the light, but live by the light they have received as a baptismal gift. The dignity of being children of the light is a gift, but it is also a responsibility. ‘We do not belong to the night, nor to the darkness. Let us not, therefore, sleep as others do, but let us keep watch and be sober’ (v. 6). Paul concludes with three spiritual exhortations: do not sleep, keep watch and be sober. The Greek verb used for ‘to sleep’ is katheudō. Here it takes on a spiritual meaning: to live in a state of unawareness, without realising one’s own condition or the nearness of the Lord. The verb grēgoreō, ‘to keep watch’, on the other hand, indicates a state of attentiveness, vigilance and awareness. Finally, we find nēphō, ‘to be sober’. Sobriety is not merely abstinence from material excesses, but also inner clarity and the ability not to allow oneself to be dominated by passions, illusions and distractions. These are three closely linked attitudes: those who keep watch do not allow their conscience to be lulled to sleep in the face of evil; those who do not become so accustomed to sin as to regard it as normal do not continually put off conversion; those who do not live distracted from what is essential do not allow worries to stifle prayer. Our ultimate security is Christ.

From the Gospel according to Matthew (25:14–30)

The parable of the talents is found in the fifth major discourse of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew, the eschatological discourse (Mt 24–25), in which Jesus speaks of his final coming and calls on his disciples to live in vigilance. It is preceded by the parable of the ten virgins (Mt 25:1–13), which teaches the need to be ready to welcome the Bridegroom, and followed by the scene of the Last Judgement (Mt 25:31–46), in which the criterion for judgement will be concrete love for one’s brothers and sisters. We thus have a very significant progression: The virgins: one must be ready.

The talents: we must be industrious and responsible; the Last Judgement: we must put charity into practice. Christian vigilance is therefore not a passive waiting, but a life that bears fruit.

‘A man, setting out on a journey, called his servants and entrusted his possessions to them’ (v. 14).

The man who sets off on a journey and entrusts his possessions to his servants, in the context of the parable, represents Christ, who, after his earthly mission, returns to the Father, leaving his disciples with a responsibility: to safeguard and make fruitful what they have received. The verb ‘entrusted’ is significant. In Greek we find parédōken, from paradídōmi, which means to hand over, to entrust, to pass on. The master does not simply distribute riches but entrusts something that belongs to him. This detail is fundamental: we are not the absolute owners of the gifts we have received, but stewards of a wealth that comes from God. Our life, our faith, our time, our abilities, our responsibilities, our charisms and our opportunities to do good are gifts entrusted to our freedom—gifts we have received that must not be regarded as private property. ‘To one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, according to each one’s ability’ (v. 15).

A talent was not a coin of small value, but a unit of weight and monetary measure. One talent corresponded to a considerable quantity of precious metal, usually silver. Therefore, even the servant who receives just one talent is entrusted with a significant wealth. The master distributes them differently, ‘according to each one’s ability’. Not everyone receives the same amount, but everyone receives something. Here is an important lesson: God does not expect the same results from everyone, but asks each person to live responsibly according to the gifts they have received; and diversity is not a form of discrimination, but a source of richness. Indeed, equality of dignity must not be confused with the sameness of gifts. In the Christian community, in fact, everyone has a particular vocation, sensibility and task. St Paul elaborates extensively on this concept in 1 Corinthians 12, where he compares the Church to a body made up of many different members, all of which are necessary. The parable invites us to move beyond the logic of comparison. The issue is not how many talents we have received, but what we do with them; and a community grows when each person stops envying the gifts of others and begins to make their own available. 

‘At once the one who had received five talents went off to put them to work’ (vv. 16–17).

The first two servants set to work immediately. The text emphasises their initiative: they do not wait for further instructions, they do not ask for guarantees, they do not put it off. They take responsibility for what has been entrusted to them, and the result is that both double the talents they have received. It is interesting to note that the servant with five talents gains another five, whilst the one with two gains another two, showing that the results differ in quantity but are identical in terms of faithfulness. The master does not assess the magnitude of the result in absolute terms, but rather how well it corresponds to the responsibility entrusted to them. Even within the Church, there is a temptation to always wait for others to take action. We wait for the parish priest to take the lead, for the organiser to make arrangements, for the priest to put forward ideas, for someone else to take on a role. But the community is not an audience merely watching the activities of a few key figures. The community is a living organism in which everyone is called to participate. It is not enough to ask what the Church can do for me; rather, we must ask ourselves what the Lord wants to do through me for the Church and for others.

‘The one who had received a single talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money there’ (v. 18).

Here we see the completely different behaviour of the third servant. He does not lose the talent, nor does he squander it or use it for personal gain, but he hides it. On the surface, this seems like prudent behaviour, but  this is precisely where the problem lies: he received a gift to make it bear fruit, yet he turns it into something to be hoarded. His is a prudence that masks fear. In the ancient world, burying money underground was a well-known way of protecting it from theft. The servant acts according to a logic of security, but not according to the logic of trust. The talent is not lost, but neither does it produce anything. The opposite of faithfulness is not merely wastefulness: it can also be inaction. This is probably the most thought-provoking aspect of the parable for our communities. We may have a sound spiritual tradition, but without passing it on to the younger generations; we may have structures and organisations, but without genuine fraternal life; we may have capable and generous people, but who are not actively involved. Many projects, but little ability to reach out to those who are far away: in short, a faith that is preserved but not borne witness to. A community thus becomes a repository of memories, habits and past activities, rather than a place where the Gospel continues to generate life. The hidden talent can also be a vocation never embraced, a charism never made available, a kind word never spoken, a person we have never tried to reach out to.

‘Lord, I know that you are a hard man…’ (vv. 24–25).

When the master returns, the servants give an account of their actions. The first two present the fruits of their labour. The third, however, tries to justify himself. The most interesting detail is the reason he gives: ‘I was afraid, so I went and hid your talent in the ground’.

Fear is this servant’s real problem because he has a distorted image of his master: he regards him as a harsh, demanding, almost unjust man. He did not trust him and did not understand the meaning of entrustment. His behaviour stems from this false image. The way we think of God profoundly shapes the way we live out our faith: if God is a severe judge, religion becomes a matter of fear and self-defence; if he is the Father who loves us, faith becomes a response of love, trust and responsibility.  In communities, we encounter people who do not get involved because they are afraid of making mistakes, of being judged, of not measuring up or of not being recognised. The community must not stifle initiatives, but support them; it must not foster competition, but encourage collaboration. Yet this does not mean abandoning responsibility and fraternal correction, so as to create an environment in which everyone can offer what they have received.

‘You wicked and lazy servant…’ (v. 26).

The master does not rebuke the servant because he produced little, but because he did nothing at all. His is a failure to fulfil his responsibility. The laziness of which Jesus speaks is not simply a lack of willingness to work; it is an inner closed-off attitude, a refusal to take responsibility for the gift received. The master points out to him that he could at least have deposited the money with the bankers to earn interest.

In other words, even if he had not been capable of making a large investment, he could at least have done something. The parable therefore condemns inaction: evil consists not only in committing wicked deeds, but also in failing to do the good that is possible. St James writes: ‘Whoever, then, knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, commits sin’ (Jas 4:17). 

‘For to everyone who has, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from the one who has not, even what they have will be taken away’ (v. 29).

This statement may seem paradoxical and even unjust. How can anything be taken away from someone who already has so little? In the context of the parable, Jesus is speaking of the dynamics of the spiritual life. A gift that is received, used and allowed to bear fruit grows; a gift that is rejected and left unused ends up being lost. We can also understand this dynamic through everyday experience: a skill that is not practised weakens; a relationship that is not nurtured deteriorates; a faith that is not nourished risks fading away. Grace is not capital to be kept static, but a life to be nurtured and allowed to grow. The parable enables us to examine our consciences within our communities, for it calls us to move from delegation to shared responsibility, as the mission cannot be sustained by just a few people; everyone must feel responsible for the common mission. It calls us to move from competition to complementarity, for different gifts must not create rivalry but rather collaboration, and one person’s talent does not diminish another’s. It encourages us to move from preservation to mission, since faith is not a treasure to be kept in a safe, but a wealth to be shared; and a community that does not evangelise risks turning in on itself. Finally, it invites us to move from fear to trust, for we must not be afraid to put our gifts to the test. We may make mistakes; we must learn and correct ourselves, but we cannot allow fear to paralyse us. There is one further point to emphasise: the master does not ask the servants simply to return what he had entrusted to them; he asks them to account for the fruits. This means that God has not given us life so that we might simply keep it intact, but so that it might bear fruit. He has not given us faith so that we might keep it only for ourselves, but so that it might also enlighten others. He has not given us charisms so that we might feel superior to others, but so that we might serve the community. He has not given us time so that we might waste it, but so that we might transform it into an opportunity for love. And there is another important point: the first two servants receive exactly the same praise, even though they produced different amounts. ‘Well done, good and faithful servant… share in your master’s joy.’

God does not ask us all to be the same, nor to do the same things. He asks us to be faithful to our vocation. Holiness does not consist in having many talents, but in not burying any of the gifts that God has entrusted to us. The concluding question to put to the community might be: If the Lord were to come today to ask for an account of the talents he has entrusted to us, would he find a community that has merely preserved the past, or a community that, through prayer, fellowship and mission, has brought forth new life?

+Giovanni D’Ercole

32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)  [8 November 2026]

*First Reading from the Book of Wisdom (6:12–16) 

The Book of Wisdom presents Wisdom not merely as a quality of the intellect, but as a radiant presence that offers itself to humankind and leads it to the truth. It is not enough simply to be intelligent or to accumulate knowledge: one must have a heart willing to seek, to listen and to allow oneself to be transformed. Today’s reading is divided into three sections: Wisdom is luminous and never sets (v. 12), and so it allows itself to be contemplated by those who love it. Wisdom takes the initiative (vv. 13–14) and goes out to meet those who desire her, making herself known to those who seek her. Wisdom, in turn, seeks out humankind (vv. 15–16) and reaches those who rise early to seek her, meeting them with kindness. It is important to note this reciprocity: man seeks Wisdom, and Wisdom, in a sense, seeks man. The spiritual quest is not merely a human endeavour but also a response to a call that precedes it. Wisdom is light that enables one to see things as they are and thus to understand their meaning. Even if one possesses a great deal of information, one may still not know which direction to give to one’s life; one may know the means, but be unaware of the end; one may be skilled in action, but ill-equipped to discern what is truly good. Wisdom, on the other hand, is ‘unfailing’: it does not run out, does not lose its value, and is not rendered obsolete by passing fashions. In the context of the book, written within a Hellenistic Jewish milieu, probably in Alexandria in Egypt between the 1st century BC and the beginning of the 1st century AD, Wisdom is God’s gift that guides humankind in righteousness and faithfulness. It is not knowledge reserved for a select few initiates, but a light capable of providing practical guidance for life because True wisdom does not consist in knowing everything, but in seeing life in the light of God. Those who love the truth are willing to listen even to what challenges their own convictions, and if they seek it sincerely, they are willing to change course when they discover they were mistaken. The verb ‘to contemplate’ does not imply a hurried glance, but an attentiveness capable of pausing and receiving. Wisdom therefore requires a heart free from the presumption of already possessing all the answers. We live in a society where information is accessible at all times, but reflection is often sacrificed to speed; we know how to look for an answer on a screen, but it is harder to find the silence needed to understand whether that answer truly makes us more human. ‘Anticipating those who desire her, she appears to them first’ (v. 13): here one of the deepest insights of this text emerges. Wisdom precedes human seeking because God does not remain passively waiting for humankind to reach him through its own efforts; rather, it is his Wisdom that draws near and reveals itself to those willing to receive it—even though the divine initiative does not eliminate human freedom, but rather stirs it to life and sustains it. It is a fundamental principle of the spiritual life: even before a person seeks God, God has already opened a path for them to encounter him. This perspective frees us from two opposing errors: the presumption of being able to win God over by our own abilities, and the discouragement of those who think that God is too distant or unattainable. How, then, do we encounter Wisdom?  In prayer, in the Word of God, in discernment, in a rightly formed conscience, in listening to another person, and even in a trial endured with faith. The problem is not a lack of time, but the way in which we organise our time; and the question this raises is: what place does the search for God occupy in my daily life? Wisdom reaches us in our everyday lives, in our decisions and in our thoughts; it is not a theory separate from existence: it illuminates the way we act, love, govern and relate to others. Finally, for the Christian, Wisdom finds its fulfilment in Christ, whom Saint Paul proclaims to be ‘the power of God and the wisdom of God’ (1 Cor 1:24). In Jesus, divine Wisdom offers more than just a teaching: it draws near to humankind, shares in our human condition and shows us the way of love. We thus see a dynamic at work that runs through the whole of the spiritual life: desiring, seeking, encountering, allowing oneself to be guided. Desire opens the heart; seeking makes it persevering; the encounter enlightens it; and welcoming Wisdom transforms our daily choices. We may conclude with three simple questions: Am I truly seeking God’s Wisdom, or am I primarily seeking confirmation of my own ideas? What concrete space do I set aside each day for silence, prayer and listening? Do the decisions I make demonstrate greater wisdom—that is, greater truth, justice and love? In short: it is not the person who knows many things who is wise, but the one who learns to see their own life in the light of God.  If one lives in this way, one does not walk alone and, whilst seeking Wisdom, one realises that Wisdom itself has already come to meet one.  

*Responsorial Psalm (62/63) 

Psalm 62 in the Catholic liturgical numbering (63 in the Hebrew numbering and in many modern Bibles) is the song of a person who, even in solitude and trial, discovers that God is more necessary than life itself, for He is the source that gives meaning to life. It is therefore not merely the prayer of one in need of help, but the prayer of one who has discovered that no created reality can fully quench the thirst of the human heart. The biblical title links it to David whilst he was in the wilderness of Judah. We cannot identify the historical episode with certainty, but the image of the wilderness is fundamental to understanding its message. The desert is a real place, arid and arduous, but it also becomes a symbol of a spiritual condition: when certainties fade and one experiences the desert of the heart, one is led back to the essential questions. From this perspective, we discern four themes in the psalm: The thirst for God (vv. 2–3): the soul seeks the Lord as parched land seeks water. The soul praises him and remembers him (vv. 4–6): God’s love is worth more than life itself and becomes a source of blessing. Communion in the night (vv. 7–9): the believer remembers God even during the darkest hours and finds refuge in his presence. Trust in divine justice (vv. 10–12): evil will not have the last word, and the Lord will protect those who entrust themselves to him. The focus of the psalm is therefore not the desert, but the presence of God discovered precisely in the desert. The prayer begins with a personal declaration: ‘You are my God’. The psalmist does not speak first and foremost of what God can give him, but of who God is to him, and this reminds us that relationship comes before the request; belonging comes before need. The expression ‘from the dawn’ indicates the intensity of the search, and the believer begins the day by turning to the One who is its very foundation. May God always be the first inner reference point with which we face decisions, relationships and difficulties. A brief prayer upon waking may not necessarily change the events of the day, but it can change the way in which we experience them. ‘My soul thirsts for you; my body longs for you’ (v. 2). Thirst is one of the most powerful biblical images of the longing for God, and the psalmist does not simply say that he thinks of God, but affirms that he thirsts for him. Contemporary society offers many opportunities for immediate gratification: consumption, entertainment, visibility, virtual relationships; yet our longing can remain unfulfilled even when we have many things. Not every desire is a conscious thirst for God, but the deepest longings — to be loved, to find meaning, not to be alone, to hope beyond death — can become a path to recognising this thirst. Just as the earth without water cannot produce life on its own, so the believer recognises that they are not self-sufficient, and biblical prayer reminds us that recognising one’s own thirst is the beginning of wisdom. Those who believe themselves to be self-sufficient risk seeking nothing more; those who recognise their own poverty can open themselves up to relationship, to grace and to the help of others. 

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians (4:13–18)  

Paul writes to a young community, that of Thessalonica, in which some Christians had died before Christ’s glorious return.  The believers wonder what will happen to those who have died and whether they will lose their share in final salvation. The Apostle does not respond with a purely theoretical explanation of the afterlife, but proclaims the heart of the Christian faith: death does not have the final say, because Jesus died and rose again. The hope of Christians springs from Christ’s Resurrection, and Paul wishes that Christians should not be in the dark about the fate of the departed. In the Greek text, he uses the expression hoi koimōmenoi, that is, ‘those who have fallen asleep’, and the imagery of sleep is a metaphor which, in the light of the Resurrection, expresses the temporary nature of death: just as sleep awaits awakening, so the believer awaits the Resurrection. In ancient culture, death was often experienced as a definitive separation and a cause for despair. Paul does not deny the pain of separation, but he wishes to spare Christians from despair. Even today, death can be repressed, hidden away in hospitals or regarded as a failure to be avoided at all costs; or it can become a reality that paralyses those left behind. Faith does not ask us not to weep: it teaches us to weep without losing hope. Indeed, Paul does not set Christians in opposition to those who suffer, as if faith made them insensitive. Jesus himself wept at Lazarus’s tomb (John 11:35). The difference does not lie in the absence of sadness, but in the presence of a hope that transcends the pain. Hope does not simply mean a wish that things will turn out well, but a trust grounded in God’s work. A Christian may suffer deeply at the loss of a loved one. Their faith does not erase the void left by that person’s absence, but enables them to live with that void within a greater relationship: communion in Christ, which death cannot destroy. Jesus died and rose again: this is the foundation of the entire passage. The Christian faith is not based primarily on the idea that the soul is immortal, nor on a vague belief that something exists after death. Its centre is an event: God raised Jesus from the dead. The verb ‘will gather’ evokes God’s saving action: He does not abandon His children to the dispersion of death, but leads them into communion with Christ; and His resurrection is the guarantee of our hope: what God has accomplished in Him foreshadows the destiny of those who belong to Him. The fundamental question is not merely: ‘What lies beyond death?’, but rather: ‘Who awaits us beyond death?’ For the Christian, the ultimate future is neither nothingness nor an impersonal force: it is Christ, the Lord who died and rose again, who calls us into communion with himself. The Christians of Thessalonica were eagerly awaiting Christ’s return, his parousia, his glorious coming, and some feared that those who had died before that event might be at a disadvantage. Paul makes it clear that this will not be the case. The dead will not be forgotten or excluded. The destiny of Christians does not depend on whether they are alive or dead at the time of the Lord’s coming. It is important to note that Paul speaks within the context of the Christian expectation of the end times, but he does not give a precise date nor does he authorise anyone to determine when Christ’s return will take place. God does not judge human life by its success, its duration or the possibility of being present at a particular historical event. Even those who die seemingly too soon remain in the Lord’s hands. This truth is particularly comforting in the face of the death of children, young people and those who seemed to have so much left to achieve. Paul also describes the Lord’s coming using apocalyptic imagery: a solemn command, the voice of the archangel, the divine trumpet. We need not necessarily interpret these elements as a foretold account of material events. Apocalyptic language uses powerful imagery to proclaim a theological certainty: history is not abandoned to chaos; the Lord will come to fulfil his work of salvation. In the Old Testament, the trumpet was used to summon the people, announce a divine manifestation or accompany a decisive event. ‘And so we shall always be with the Lord’ (v. 17): this is the culminating phrase of the passage. All the preceding images lead to this promise. The ultimate goal of salvation is not simply to continue to exist, nor to know the secrets of the afterlife: it is to be with the Lord for ever. Eternal life is full communion with Christ, the fulfilment of the relationship begun in faith, nourished by the Word and the sacraments, and lived out in charity. And Christian hope is not merely a desire to reach a place called paradise: it is a longing to live eternally with the One we have learnt to love. ‘Therefore comfort one another with these words’ (v. 18). Paul concludes with a communal imperative: ‘comfort one another’. The hope of the resurrection is not a truth to be treasured solely as an individual: it is a gift to be shared. The Christian community is called to support those who are grieving, to accompany the dying, and to remember the departed in prayer. Christian consolation does not consist in uttering facile phrases in the face of grief, but in bearing witness to a hope that springs from Christ. When faced with someone who has lost a loved one, it is sometimes better not to seek immediate explanations; first and foremost, we must simply be there, listen, share in the silence, and pray. Hope becomes credible when it is expressed through concrete acts of closeness. 

*From the Gospel according to Matthew (25:1–3) 

This passage forms part of Jesus’ great eschatological discourse (Mt 24–25) and is one of the parables on Christian vigilance and the expectation of the Lord. Jesus invites his disciples to live not simply by waiting for the end, but by keeping their hearts ready for the encounter with him. The ten virgins are young women attending a wedding feast and, according to custom, they accompanied the bride or waited for the bridegroom to join the wedding procession and accompany him to the feast. The figure of the bridegroom evokes an important biblical symbolism: God is the Bridegroom of his people. In Hosea, God promises: ‘I will make you my bride for ever’ (2:21–22); in Isaiah: ‘As the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you’ (62:5). Jesus himself presents himself as the Bridegroom (Mt 9:15). Therefore, in the parable, the bridegroom is Christ and the wedding feast represents the definitive communion with him. The Christian life is not merely a matter of observing precepts: it is a waiting for a person, Christ, who comes to meet us. Of the ten virgins, five are wise and five are foolish. The Greek text uses two very significant words: Phrónimoi (φρόνιμοι): wise, prudent, capable of discernment; mōraí (μωραί): foolish, senseless, lacking in discernment. This is not an intellectual difference, but a spiritual one. The ten virgins all share certain characteristics: they have all received the invitation to the feast; they all possess a lamp; they all go out to meet the bridegroom; they all fall asleep when the bridegroom is delayed. The difference, therefore, does not lie in the invitation received, the lamp possessed or the ability to stay awake. The difference lies in their preparation. The wise ones also bring oil with them, whilst the foolish ones take only their lamps, and here we find the first fundamental lesson: it is not enough to have a lamp; one must have oil to keep it burning. The lamp may represent the faith received, the Christian vocation, or the outwardly religious life, whilst the oil represents what nourishes faith from within: charity, perseverance, prayer, daily fidelity and a living communion with God. It is important to note that the text does not explicitly identify the oil with a single reality. Christian spiritual tradition has seen in it, above all, charity and the inner life nourished by grace. Furthermore, the bridegroom’s delay is a test of time: ‘Since the bridegroom was delayed, they all dozed off and fell asleep’. This is one of the most human expressions in the parable because even the wise virgins fall asleep, and Jesus makes no distinction between those who know no weariness and those who do. If everyone experiences human frailty, the problem is not falling asleep, but being unprepared when the moment of the encounter arrives. The bridegroom’s delay evokes the course of history, in which the Lord sometimes seems absent or distant; it is a time of trial, of perseverance, of faith that does not immediately see results. How often do we too ask ourselves: Why is God slow to intervene? Why does my prayer seem to go unheard? Why does goodness seem to be losing ground? Why does the Lord seem to remain silent? The parable teaches that God’s apparent delay must not become a reason for abandoning the faith, and that true wisdom lies in preparing oneself for even a long wait, without allowing the lamp to go out. ‘At midnight there was a cry: “Here is the bridegroom! Go out to meet him!”’ Midnight is the darkest hour of the night. Symbolically, it may represent the moment when we least expect the Lord’s arrival, and a sudden cry interrupts our sleep and confronts us all with the decisive reality: the bridegroom has arrived. It is interesting to note that the Greek text reads: “Idou ho nymphíos! (Ἰδοὺ ὁ νυμφίος!) ‘Behold, the bridegroom!’”, not ‘behold the judge’, or the master, or indeed the one who comes to call us to account. The bridegroom is coming! The coming of Christ is, first and foremost, an encounter with the One who loves us and desires to unite us to himself. However, this encounter has a decisive dimension: one cannot improvise one’s relationship with God at the last moment. Oil cannot be lent out, and when the foolish virgins plead with the wise ones, the reply may seem harsh: ‘No, lest we and you run out.’ This is not a matter of selfishness, nor is it that Jesus wishes to teach us not to share; for the meaning is spiritually much deeper. There are things we can share and things that no one can experience in our place. No one can believe in our place; love God in our place; be converted in our place; live out their own faithfulness in our place; or build a personal relationship with Christ in our place. A priest can accompany a soul, a parent can bring up a child, a friend can support another friend, but no one can take the place of the personal response that each of us must give to God. Faith can be passed on, but the personal relationship with Christ must be lived out by each individual. The foolish virgins therefore return when the door is already shut and cry out: ‘Lord, Lord, open to us!’; the bridegroom replies: ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ It is one of the most powerful expressions in the Gospel. The Greek verb is oida (οἶδα), ‘to know’. And in the Bible, ‘to know’ does not simply mean possessing information about someone, but entering into a personal relationship; it is not enough to know Jesus intellectually, to speak of Him, to carry out a ministry or to take part in celebrations. One must belong to Him, live with Him and allow oneself to be transformed by His love. Jesus had said: ‘Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord”, will enter the kingdom of heaven. The greatest danger is having an outward religiosity without true inner communion with Christ, and the closed door invites us to reflect on life’s ultimate encounter with God. The time of preparation belongs to this present life: ‘Keep watch, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.’ In the conclusion lies the fundamental message of the parable. The Greek verb grēgoreîte (γρηγορεῖτε) means: stay awake, keep watch, remain alert; and this Gospel-inspired vigilance is neither fear of death nor anxiety about the future, but living each day with our sights set on Christ. We do not know when he will come, but we know how we must live whilst we await him. This parable teaches us that the Christian life cannot be improvised; it is not enough to have been baptised, to know the Gospel, to belong to the Church or to carry out a ministry, for we must nurture our relationship with Christ every day. The lamp is what is visible; the oil is what nourishes it and is the hidden life. The lamp may be admired by people, but the oil is known above all – and sometimes only – by God. We must not concern ourselves merely with having a lamp to show, but with possessing a heart that burns with love for Christ. Ultimately, the parable tells us that Christian wisdom consists in living each day in such a way as to be ready to welcome the Lord. Unfortunately, the tragedy is not that the night is long, but that, whilst we wait for the Bridegroom, we may allow the oil of love to run out.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Foreign glory, or religiosity giving birth to models and slaves

(LK 17:11-19)

According to the encyclical Brothers All, the custody of differences is the criterion of true fraternity, which does not annihilate the extrovert peaks.

In fact, even in a relationship of deep love and coexistence «we need to free ourselves from feeling that we all have to be alike» [Amoris Laetitia, n.139].

It will be surprising, but the meaning of the Gospel does not concern the thanks to do!

Jesus is not saddened by a lack of gratitude and good manners, but by the fact that only a stranger gives «glory to God» (v.15).

That is: he recognizes Him as his personal Lord - in a relationship, in fact, without mediation.

That personal «make-Eucharist» [...] «and fell on his face at his feet» (v.16 Greek text) has a strong, spousal meaning, of perfect reciprocity in the Way.

All within the horizon of a crucial - decisive - choice between exclusive quality life, or death.

Although marginalized by the "sacred precincts" of the Temple in the Holy City - the distant and rejected (considered bastards and enemies) immediately understand what does not disfigure the face of their humanity.

On closer inspection, in the third Gospel the models of the Faith are all "foreign": centurion, prostitute, hemorrhoid, blind; and so on.

They immediately perceive the signs of Life, signs of God!

Others more settled or attracted by normalities are content to be reintegrated into ancient and common religious practice, returning to the usual impersonal things, and to mass worship.

But those who allow themselves to be enslaved, lose track of themselves and of Christ (v.17). They become again a slave of the aligned, conventionalist mentality, not examined - and subject to ‘permanence’.

Instead, if recognized [as in the case of the Samaritan] a Presence in our favor makes us find, discover, and understand.

It proceeds unparalleled through all our moods - without remorse for duties that do not belong to us.

This Friendship makes us recover the fixed points of truly intimate human codes, strengthening - out of the line - both the system of self-recognition and the authentic and unrepeatable way of honoring God in our brothers and sisters.

In short, as we walk our very own Way with optimism and hope, we come to meet the living Christ; not to the hubbub of the [ancient or fashionable] Temple.

It no longer sends precious messages; it only notes down. It beats in the head, but does not touch us inside.

It will trap each one in a web of predictable thoughts, of enemy surveillance, induced customs; so on.

Regarding the essential divine readiness to grasp differences as wealth, we recall the teaching of the Sufi master Ibn Ata Allah, who upheld the unparalleled immediacy of the personal Colloquium - where wisdom of analysis and experience of mystical vertigo unite:

«He makes the enlightenment come upon you so that through it you may come to Him; He makes it come upon you to remove you from the hand of others; He makes it come upon you to free you from the slavery of creatures; He makes it come on you to bring you out of the prison of your existence towards the Heaven of the contemplation of Him».

New, full, and definitive Life.

People of Faith detach themselves from external religious identity: they dream, love and invent roads; they deviate and do not follow an already traced path.

[Wednesday 32nd wk. in O.T.  November 11, 2026]

Foreign Glory, or religiosity that gives birth to models and slaves

(Lk 17:11-19)

The impure had to stay out of the way: everything that was different from the dominant thought was shunned.

According to the ancient religious scheme, the places of the 'infected' were regarded as cemeteries.

Diseases were imagined as punishments for defaults.

But leprosy - a disease that corrodes within - was the very symbol of sin [yet here the observant seem to be the walking image of death].

The eventual healing was valued on a par with a miraculous resurrection.

And all (supposed) sins had to be atoned for before being readmitted to society.

Jesus replaces the nerve-wracking globality of these arcane-superstitious rigmarole with a very simple outward path.

Thus he destroys archaic, superstitious idolatrous devotion, supplanting it with a real-life proposal.

The passage is exclusive to Lk but in all the Gospels the term "village" has strongly negative connotations.

"Villages" are the places where the Lord is not welcomed. There is no place for the new there, and if it takes root it becomes an obligatory tradition.

They are territories and swamps of reduction, of stubborn confirmation, of wanting to reproduce established thoughts and impose more or less seraphic customs on anyone. We know them.

In the Church, the 'village' mentality is that of certainty at all costs.

A hypical conviction of those who consider themselves sacredly correct and empowered to marginalise, cast out, reject, keep away, disregard.

The passage has several levels of reading.

The Master walks with the Apostles and addresses them (Lk 17:1-11) but suddenly seems to find himself alone (v.12). As if the 'lepers of the village' were none other than his own [at that time no one afflicted with the disease could dwell in residential places].

The uncleanness contracted by the confirmed disciples, and also by us today, depends precisely on the spoiled, decaying and corrupt condition of the reduced and infected environment.

The latter makes regeneration impossible - because in it the followers themselves (who appear to be intimates) sometimes shut themselves away, all huddled together.

The ten lepers represent us.

The number itself indicates a totality (like fingers).

But right here, if we are at least made aware of the separation from the realisation of our face, here is the first step to a personal involvement with the Lord.

We all have signs of non-life.

Those who think they have arrived and are unharmed by pathologies put up fences to protect themselves and their world, but they remain there, clumsy.

When, on the other hand, they see that development has not yet blossomed, a sense of tolerance towards others is triggered, and the personal spring that overcomes empty, intimist, or coarse adhesions.

Even in the first assemblies of those called to be sons and brothers, there was sometimes a self-congratulatory and isolationist mentality towards the pagans who appeared at the threshold of the communities.

The new ones - x-rayed by the veterans who could not stand different specificities - cried out by appealing directly to Christ himself.

The question was triggered - all topical:

"You who stand at the head [v.13 Greek text], You who lead the church, what do you think of your own? What do you say about this village mentality?"

"The first ones who think they have the right to shun others, do they really have the right to do so?"

"Has the Father you proclaim become exactly like the sullen God of religions again?"

In fact, the 'lepers' do not ask for healing, but for compassion.

In short, the Call is 'internal'.

This means that it is precisely the phenomena of the acquired - perhaps colonialist - role or ministry that should be healed.

Conditioned by false guides, we also not infrequently approach Christ in an abstruse, wrong way: asking him for 'mercy'.

A Friend or a Father is not asked for 'Mercy'.

That is why Jesus is clear. Those who consider themselves unclean or want to be pitied must go elsewhere, turn to the official religion.

Everyone is complete, and this is seen in the choice of the stranger who alone understands and returns to Christ.

No one needs to chastise himself by submitting to conformist protocols.

But back then it was the Temple priests who checked and decided whether the already healed (!) could be readmitted to society.

In short, all of us sinners are made pure not by miracles that descend like lightning, but in the Exodus.

It is the journey that moves us out of the putrid, diseased environment - well before anyone checks, makes trivial recommendations, and dictates the pace of posthumous practices.

It is only the 'village' that makes us - and considers us - unclean... because we do not look like it!

We need only step out of ghettoising thoughts and customs to gain serenity and motivation: we will no longer feel rejected and pointed at.

We will discover ourselves and the God-with.

He made us this way for a special Mission; not modelled on prototypes to be copied as if we were idiots: but supremely lovable children.

The Father sees us as perfect, and in his time he will raise astounding pearls precisely from our supposed or intruded unworthinesses.

Inadequacies to the "village", which make up and complete the baggage of our precious personality, and unrepeatable Vocation.

As it happens, we only fulfil ourselves spiritually by crossing local 'cultural' fences.

Even not by obeying orders, but by transgressing them (vv.14ff.)!

In this way, Jesus does not contemplate inquisitors.

We must allow ourselves to be controlled solely by the Spirit, who already animates us.

This is a decisive question. In fact: the meaning of the text is not about thanksgiving!

Jesus is not saddened by a lack of thankfulness and good manners, but by the fact that only a stranger gives "glory to God" (v.15).

That is: he recognises him as his personal Lord - in a relationship, indeed, without mediation.

That personal "making-Eucharist" [...] "and fell on his face at his feet" (v.16 Greek text) has a strong, spousal meaning, of perfect reciprocity in the Way.

All in the horizon of a crucial choice - not peaceful, nor calm and good-natured, but diriment - between life of exclusive quality, or death.

Although marginalised by the 'holy precincts' of the Temple in the Holy City - precisely the distant and rejected (considered bastards and enemies) immediately understand what does not disfigure the face of their humanity.

Here Lk quotes the term alloghenès (v.18) carved in large letters in the tablets affixed to the first of the inner parapets of the Jerusalem Sanctuary [the one that under penalty of death prevented pagans from participating in the Jewish cultic sacrifice].

But on closer inspection, in the Third Gospel the models of Faith are all 'outsiders': centurion, prostitute, hemorrhoid, blind man, and so on.

They immediately perceive the signs of Life, signs of God!

Others who are more settled or attracted to normality are content to be reintegrated into old-fashioned and common religious practice, returning to the usual impersonal things, and mass worship.

And yet, those who re-adapt to the way of all, become enslaved; they lose track of themselves and of Christ (v.17).

He who becomes a slave again to the aligned, conventionalist mentality; unexamined - and subservient to 'permanence'.

According to the encyclical Fratelli Tutti, the custody of differences is the criterion of true fraternity, which does not annihilate extrovert peaks.

Indeed, even in a relationship of deep love and coexistence "there is a need to free oneself from the obligation to be equal" [Amoris Laetitia, no.139].

Pope Francis again:

"While Solidarity is the social planning principle that allows unequals to become equals, Fraternity is what allows equals to be different people" [Message to the Pontifical Academy of Social Sciences, 24/04/2017].

In short, by optimistically and hopefully walking our very own Way, we come to meet the living Christ; not the hubbub of the Temple [ancient or fashionable].

It no longer sends precious messages; it only notes. It knocks on the head, but does not touch inside.

It traps us in a web of predictable thoughts, enemy surveillance, induced customs; so on.

Domestics devoid of affinity with events of specific weight - without the allied step of people of a particular culture and sensitivity.

Those who are healing the world.

Despite the exhibited belonging, behind sacred official scenes, relationships often loosen; they do not regenerate.

Models and prototypes, codes and patents, the obtuseness of petty primitives - figurines of narrowness - are often birthed there.

Instead, when recognised [as e.g. in the case of the Samaritan] a Presence in our favour makes us find, discover, and understand.

It proceeds unparalleled through all our states of mind - with no more remorse towards duties that do not belong to us.

Such Friendship makes us recover the fixed points of truly intimate human codes, enhancing - outside the lines - both the system of recognising ourselves and the authentic and unrepeatable way of honouring God in our brothers and sisters.

No longer the exclusive privilege of the elect and the best ... all non-decisive.

Regarding the essential divine readiness to embrace differences as richness, let us recall the teaching of the Sufi master Ibn Ata Allah, who advocated the unparalleled immediacy of the Personal Colloquy - where wisdom of analysis and experience of intoxication come together:

"He brings enlightenment upon you in order that through it you may come to Him; He brings it upon you to remove you from the hand of others; He brings it upon you to free you from the bondage of creatures; He brings it upon you to bring you out of the prison of your existence to the heaven of contemplation of Him."

New, full, definitive life.

People of Faith break away from external religious identity: they dream, love and invent paths; they deviate and do not follow a path already mapped out.

The Gospel [...] presents Jesus healing 10 lepers, of whom only one, a Samaritan and therefore a foreigner, returned to thank him (cf. Lk 17: 11-19). The Lord said to him: "Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well" (Lk 17: 19). This Gospel passage invites us to a twofold reflection. It first evokes two levels of healing: one, more superficial, concerns the body. The other deeper level touches the innermost depths of the person, what the Bible calls "the heart", and from there spreads to the whole of a person's life. Complete and radical healing is "salvation". By making a distinction between "health" and "salvation", even ordinary language helps us to understand that salvation is far more than health: indeed, it is new, full and definitive life. Furthermore, Jesus here, as in other circumstances, says the words: "Your faith has made you whole". It is faith that saves human beings, re-establishing them in their profound relationship with God, themselves and others; and faith is expressed in gratitude. Those who, like the healed Samaritan, know how to say "thank you", show that they do not consider everything as their due but as a gift that comes ultimately from God, even when it arrives through men and women or through nature. Faith thus entails the opening of the person to the Lord's grace; it means recognizing that everything is a gift, everything is grace. What a treasure is hidden in two small words: "thank you"!

Jesus healed 10 people sick with leprosy, a disease in those times considered a "contagious impurity" that required ritual cleansing (cf. Lv 14: 1-37). Indeed, the "leprosy" that truly disfigures the human being and society is sin; it is pride and selfishness that spawn indifference, hatred and violence in the human soul. No one, save God who is Love, can heal this leprosy of the spirit which scars the face of humanity. By opening his heart to God, the person who converts is inwardly healed from evil. 

"Repent, and believe in the Gospel" (Mk 1: 15). Jesus began his public life with this invitation that continues to resonate in the Church. [...]

Let us ask Our Lady for the gift of true conversion for all Christians, so that they may proclaim and witness consistently and faithfully to the perennial message of the Gospel, which points out to humanity the path of authentic peace.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 14 October 2007]

"Mga kaibigan" (Dear friends)

"Maraming salamat sa inyong lahat" (I warmly thank you all). 

I would have liked to visit you at your homes, but it was not possible. I thank you for coming to meet me instead. Thank you for wanting to represent the others who wanted so much to come but could not. Being with you today brings great joy to my heart. I greet you with affection and I hope you know how much I have looked forward to our meeting. 

In my previous pastoral visits to Africa and Brazil, I met other men and women suffering from leprosy. These encounters left a deep impression on me, because I was able to appreciate the loving patience and courage with which they live in spite of trials and adversity. 

1. I stand here in the name of Christ Jesus to remind you of his extraordinary love for all his brothers and sisters, but particularly for each one of you. The Gospels bear witness to this truth. Think for a moment how often Jesus manifested his concern by transforming situations of need into moments of grace. In St Luke's Gospel, for example, Jesus is approached by ten lepers who ask to be healed. The Lord orders them to show themselves to the priests, and along the way they are healed. One of them returns to give thanks. In his gratitude he demonstrates a faith that is strong, joyful and full of praise for the wonder of God's gifts. Evidently Jesus has touched the deep intimacy of this man's being with his love. 

2. Again in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, we are presented with a leper who asks Jesus to heal him but only if it is his will. What great gratitude the man feels when his request is heard! He sets out to spread the joyful news of the miracle to all he meets. Such great happiness comes from man's faith. His words 'if you will you can cleanse me' reflect a readiness to accept whatever Jesus wishes for him. And his faith in Jesus was not disappointed! Dear brothers and sisters, may your faith in Jesus be no less firm and constant than the faith of these people in the Gospels. 

3. I know that your affliction brings intense suffering, not only through its physical manifestations, but also through the misunderstandings that so many people in society continue to associate with Hansen's disease. You often come across very old prejudices, and these become an even greater source of suffering. For my part, I will continue to proclaim before the world the need for even greater awareness of the fact that, with appropriate help, this disease can indeed be overcome. This is why I ask everyone everywhere to support more and more the courageous efforts that are being made to eradicate leprosy and effectively treat those who still suffer from it. 

4. I pray that you will never be discouraged or aggravated. Wherever and whenever you encounter the Cross, embrace it as Jesus did, that the Father's will may be done. May your suffering be offered up for the benefit of the whole Church, so that you may say with St Paul: "Therefore I am glad in my sufferings... and I complete in my flesh what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of His Body, which is the Church..." (Col 1:24). 

Three days ago I beatified in your country sixteen martyrs of Nagasaki. Among them is Blessed Lazarus of Kyoto, who was a leper. How we rejoice at the help Blessed Lazarus gave to the missionaries as a translator and guide. Finally, his commitment to spreading the Gospel cost him his life; he died shedding his blood for the faith. His love for Christ involved much suffering, even torturous pain! He experienced the incomprehension, rejection and hatred of others in his service to the Church! But by the power of God's grace, Blessed Lazarus bore witness to the faith and merited the precious gift of the crown of martyrdom. 

Dear friends, I invite you to imitate the courage of Blessed Lazarus who is so close to you. Share the convictions of your faith with your brothers and sisters who suffer with you. Return the love of the doctors, nurses and volunteers who so generously care for you. Work to build a living community of faith, a community that supports, strengthens and enriches the universal Church. This is where your service to Christ is! It is here that your lives are challenged! It is here that you can manifest your faith, your hope and your love! 

May God bless you, dear brothers and sisters! Bless all those suffering from leprosy in this country! May he bless your families, your friends and all those who care for you! "Ai higit sa lahat, inihahabilin ko ang aking sarili sa inyong panalangin, sa inyong pagmamahal" (And above all, I commend me to your prayer and love).

[Pope John Paul II, Address to the Tala Leprosarium, Manila 21 February 1981]

Today, I would like to focus on the prayer of thanksgiving. And I take my cue from an episode recounted by the Evangelist Luke. While Jesus was on the way, ten lepers approached Him, begging: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” (17:13). We know that those who had leprosy suffered not only physically, but also from social marginalization and religious marginalization. They were marginalized. Jesus did not back off from meeting them. Sometimes, he went beyond the limitations imposed by the law and touched the sick — which was not permitted — he embraced and healed them. In this case, there was no contact. From a distance, Jesus invited them to present themselves to the priests (v. 14), who were designated by law to certify any healings that had occurred. Jesus said nothing else. He listened to their prayer, he heard their cry for mercy, and he sent them immediately to the priests.

Those 10 lepers trusted, they did not remain there until they were cured, no: they trusted and they went immediately, and while they were on their way, all 10 of them were cured. The priests would have therefore been able to verify their healing and readmit them to normal life. But here is the most important point: only one in the group, before going to the priests, returned to thank Jesus and to praise God for the grace received. Only one, the other nine continued on their way. And Jesus points out that that man was a Samaritan, a sort of “heretic” for the Jews of that time. Jesus comments: “Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” (17:18). This narrative is touching.

This narrative, so to speak, divides the world in two: those who do not give thanks and those who do; those who take everything as if it is owed them, and those who welcome everything as a gift, as grace. The Catechism says: “every event and need can become an offering of thanksgiving” (n. 2638). The prayer of thanksgiving always begins from here: from the recognition that grace precedes us. We were thought of before we learned how to think; we were loved before we learned how to love; we were desired before our hearts conceived a desire. If we view life like this, then “thank you” becomes the driving force of our day. And how often we even forget to say “thank you”.

For us Christians, thanksgiving was the name given to the most essential Sacrament there is: the Eucharist . In fact, the Greek word means precisely this: thanksgiving . Eucharist: thanksgiving. Christians, as all believers, bless God for the gift of life. To live is above all to have received life. All of us are born because someone wanted us to have life. And this is only the first of a long series of debts that we incur by living. Debts of gratitude. During our lives, more than one person has gazed on us with pure eyes, gratuitously. Often, these people are educators, catechists, persons who carried out their roles above and beyond what was required of them. And they stirred gratitude within us. Even friendship is a gift for which we should always be grateful.

This “thank you” that we must say continually, this thanks that Christians share with everyone, grows in the encounter with Jesus. The Gospels attest that when Jesus passed by, he often stirred joy and praise to God in those who met Him. The Gospel accounts of Christmas are filled with prayerful people whose hearts are greatly moved by the coming of the Saviour. And we too were called to participate in this immense jubilation. The episode of the ten lepers who are healed also suggests this. Naturally, they were all happy about having recovered their health, thus being allowed to end that unending forced quarantine that excluded them from the community. But among them, there was one who experienced an additional joy: in addition to being healed, he rejoices at the encounter with Jesus. He is not only freed from evil, but he now possesses the certainty of being loved. This is the crux: when you thank someone, you express the certainty that you are loved. And this is a huge step: to have the certainty that you are loved. It is the discovery of love as the force that governs the world. Dante would say: the Love that “moves the sun and other stars” (Paradise, XXIII, 145). We are no longer vagabonds wandering aimlessly here and there, no: we have a home, we dwell in Christ, and from that “dwelling” we contemplate the rest of the world which appears infinitely more beautiful to us. We are children of love, we are brothers and sisters of love. We are men and women of grace.

Therefore, brothers and sisters, let us seek to remain always in the joy of the encounter with Jesus. Let us cultivate joyfulness. The devil, instead, after having deluded us — with whatever temptation — always leaves us sad and alone. If we are in Christ, there is no sin and no threat that can ever prevent us from continuing our journey with joy, along with many fellow travel companions.

Above all, let us not forget to thank: if we are bearers of gratitude, the world itself will become better, even if only a little bit, but that is enough to transmit a bit of hope. The world needs hope. And with gratitude, with this attitude of thanksgiving, we transmit a bit of hope. Everything is united and everything is connected, and each one can do their part wherever they are. The path to happiness is the one that Saint Paul described at the end of one of his letters: “Pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Do not quench the Spirit” (1Thess 5:17-19). Do not quench the Spirit, what a beautiful project of life! Not quenching the Spirit that we have within leads us to gratitude.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 30 December 2020]

(Lk 17:7-10)

Increase Faith? The Gift is not a material alms, but an Appeal. Therefore Jesus does not even answer - nevertheless he makes us reflect on the results of the eventual adhesion.

A minimum involvement would suffice and extraordinary results would be produced in the world (v.6); in communities, in families, in personal life.

We would achieve the impossible and important. The real problems would be solved. Even the simplest actions would be transformed.

Very provocative words, those of Jesus, that neither condemn a priori nor demonize the Way contrary to his.

But he puts us on notice about how things work in the pyramidal environment (vv.7-9).

«When you have done all that you have been "ordered"...» (v.10).

The Lord alludes to the obedience of the Torah, and would like to free us from the obsessive, limiting, petty and anxiety-inducing yoke of the ancient Law. 

It produces impoverishment of souls.

It is as if the Lord were saying:

«Try along to follow the predictable, plastered, shock-free model... Try and you will see on your skin what inconclusiveness, what lacerations and disasters it produces!».

In a perspective of Faith and human growth in Christ, the standard scheme (limiting) «subjected-Sovereign» must be abandoned.

It removes expressive richness from the Announcement and from life.

The welcoming-likeness Faith will lead us instead to grow from ‘useless’ slaves to Sons; collaborators and allies of the Father.

From narrow submissive and obedient slaves, to family members, friends and consanguineous-resembling.

Otherwise we will remain in the childish condition of big kids and roundsmen «of no account» (v.10) who do not express themselves or reinterpret, but remain subjected and do only "what they must".

The religion of merits and roles is deleterious; it produces malaise, it goes on by inertia and with a defensive attitude.

It does not reinvent the present, nor does it open the future.

It does not listen to needs, rather it pushes us to imprint relationships on the basis of selfishness, even spiritual.

Here we no longer look at what spontaneously appears - forcing our faculties to all predictable, conformist assessments.

Life therefore impoverishes, desertifying itself, because it is intimidated.

Becoming an absurd farce that Jesus does not want: a jumble of swampy attitudes, unable to reactivate us - inattentive to special actions that turn routine into adventure.

To paraphrase the encyclical Brothers All, in those conditions it would sound «like madness» also to elaborate «great goals for the development of our entire human family» (n.16).

There would be no sense of the Mystery, never perceiving it in the furrows of history: we would drag ourselves into remedies, protecting only the usual grind newspaper.

Therefore no unexpected change, no unexplained transformation, no exceptional recovery (v.6).

No unpredictability would see the ‘sacred’ in the thousand situations that Providence invents, stimulating new answers.

The mystic Ibn Ata Allah - Master of the two Sciences [wisdom of analysis and experience of mystical inebriation] - argued:

«If you want that the door of the fear is opened to you, look at what from you goes to Him. If you want that the door of the Hope is opened to you, look at what comes from Him to you».

[Tuesday 32nd wk. in O.T.  November 10, 2026]

Lk 17:7-10 (1-10)

Forgiveness and Faith: Living Encounter

Eccentric free-for-all: Sacrament of humanity as such

(Lk 17:1-6)

The knowledge of God is not a confiscated commodity or an acquired and already foreclosed science: it moves from one action to another, unceasingly; it is realised in an ever-living Encounter, which does not freeze or dissolve us.

Typical, the experience of the "little ones" [mikròi v.2]. From the earliest communities of faith, they were those who lacked security and energy; unstable and without support.

From time immemorial, "Little Ones" have been the incipients; the new ones, who have heard of Christian brotherhood, but who are sometimes forced to stand in line, aside, or give up the journey.

But the criterion of welcome, tolerance, communion even of material goods, was the first and main catalyst for the growth of the assemblies.

Moreover, the source and meaning of all the formulas and signs of the liturgy.

The existential and ideal centre in which to converge. For a proactive and in itself transformative Faith.

In the Spirit of the Master, even for us the conciliation of friction is not simply a work of magnanimity.

It is the beginning of the future world. The beginning of an unforeseeable and unspeakable adventure. And we with it suddenly reborn: coming into frank contact in Christ. He who does not extinguish us at all.

Hence the Christian forgiveness of children, which is not... "looking positive", and "turning a blind eye": rather, Newness of God that creates an environment of Grace, propulsive, with enormous possibilities.

Force that breaks through and paradoxically lets the dark poles meet, instead of shaking them off. Genuinely eliminating useless comparisons, words and ballasts, which block the transparent Exodus.

Dynamics that guide one to the indispensable and unavoidable: waves to shift one's gaze. Teaching to notice one's own hysterics, to know oneself, to face anxiety, its reason; to manage situations and moments of crisis.

Mouldable virtue that places one in intimate listening to the personal essence.

Hence, solid, wide-ranging empathy that introduces new energies; it brings together one's own deep states, even standard life arousing other knowledge, different perspectives, unexpected relationships.

Thus without too much struggle it renews us, and curbs the loss of veracity [typical, that in favour of circumstantial manners]. It accentuates the capacity and horizons of Peace - crumbling primates, swampy balances.

The discovery of new sides of the being that we are, conveys a sense of better wholeness, then spontaneously curbs external influences, dissolves prejudices, does not make one act on an emotional, impulsive basis.

Rather, it puts us in a position to reveal the hidden and astounding meaning of being. It unfolds the crucial horizon.

Activating 'Forgiveness' is gratuitously a surrender of one's character range, of all lost dignity, and far beyond.

By laying down feelings, the art of tolerance expands the [also intimate] gaze. It enhances and strengthens the dull sides; those we ourselves had detested.

In this eccentric way it transforms those considered distant or mediocre [mikroi] into outriders, and brilliant inventors. For what was unthought of yesterday will be clarifying and driving tomorrow.

Confusions will make sense - precisely because of the thinking of minds in crisis, and because of the action of the despised, intruders, outside of all spin and predictability.

Life of pure Faith in the Spirit: i.e., the imagination of the 'weak'... in power.

Because it is the paradoxical mechanism that makes the crossroads of history assess, activates passions, creates sharing, solves real problems.

And so it supplants difficult moments forwards (bringing us back to the true path) by orienting reality to the concrete good.

By making it fly towards itself.

The 'win-or-lose' alternative is false: we must get out of it. It is in such 'emptiness' and Silence that God makes His way.

Mystery of Presence, overflowing. New Covenant.

Increasing Faith: a dull, intimidated life, or the door of Hope

(Lk 17:5-10)

Perhaps we too have been inculcated with the idea that faith must be asked for, so God will increase it for us. Instead, we have a say, but not in the sense of a plea to Heaven.

Faith is a gift, but in the sense of a relational, face-to-face proposal and initiative; that asks for welcoming perception. Hence it does not grow by dropping a package - like a precipice, or by infusion from above. Even forcing it and convincing the Father.

Nor is it mere assent linked to good-naturedness. It is not a baggage of notions that some have and prove right; others less so, or not at all.

In falling in love one can be more or less involved!

Faith is not believing that God exists, but adhering to a springing suggestion that (without imposition) guides us to disregard reputation.

The person of Faith cares not for expense or risk, even for the lives of others. He holds particular mores in abeyance; he does not put circle affections first. He forgives without limit.

Often we agree only in part and accept a little bit - perhaps until love goes all the way, or calls us into question.

Thus the head, the quirks, the concatenation of values, and the small world to which we are attached.

Increasing Faith? The Gift is not a gift, but an Appeal.

That is why Jesus does not even respond to such a ridiculous request - nevertheless, it makes one wonder about the results of possible adherence.

All it would take is the slightest involvement and there would be extraordinary results in the world (v.6); in the community, in families and in personal lives.

We would achieve the impossible and important. Real problems would be solved. Even the simplest actions would be transformed.

Then there are great events planted in every man's heart, which we perhaps consider unrealisable: e.g. universal brotherhood, victory over fame, a dignified and beautiful life for all, a world and a Church without volatile, corrupt and vain characters.

Because we consider them impossible situations, we don't even begin to build them - we immediately drop our arms.

But maturation is the result of secret sides, not of impermeable mental armour.

As a Nobel Prize winner said: 'The innocent did not know that their project was impossible, so they realised it'.

And it is not that after a life spent in service - at the orders of the Principal - in the afterlife we will finally command, on the basis of the rank we have earned [although this too may have been passed on to us].

One of the wonders that Faith in Christ accomplishes in us - here and now - is to make us aware of the beauty and joy of having the freedom to come down from the pedestals we have already identified, in order to favour the full life (of all).

And at the 'end of the month' - at the 'reckoning' or the 'pay' - we will not finally become bosses - at least in heaven!

Because God is Communion, conviviality of differences; and He does not accept the servant-master scheme, even as a reward.

Very provocative words, those of Jesus, that neither condemn a priori nor demonise the Way contrary to his.

But he does warn us about how things work in a pyramid scheme (vv.7-9).

"When you have done all that you have been 'commanded'..." (v.10).

The Lord alludes to the obedience of the Torah and would like to free us from the obsessive, limiting, petty and anxiety-inducing yoke of the ancient religious Law. 

It produces artificial and fake hierarchies, social collapse, impoverishment of souls.

It is as if the Lord were saying:

"Try as you might to follow the predictable, pious, correct, plastered, jerkless model....

Try it and you will see for yourself what inconclusiveness, what lacerations and disasters it produces.

Experience it, and you will realise, and definitively!".

In a perspective of Faith and human growth in Christ, one must abandon the standard limiting "subject-subject" model imposed by Moses.

How boring! Person and Friendship do not bank!

And after the first discoveries, there is no going back to cultivating restraints - otherwise compulsory behaviour will get us into big trouble.

They will take away expressive richness from the proclamation and from life.

Perhaps we already know what it means to feel like numbers, to copy the (histrionic) emancipation of others and consequently seek external compensations; or to fill ourselves with ulterior motives, thus make-up and spoil.

"Try settling for official, conformist and normalised religiosity, instead of engaging in the search and discovery without compensation; in the Exodus and the adventure of adhering to a level-headed Love! You will see what an impediment to breakthroughs, what a degradation of relationships, what a life folded and filled with resentments all around, insulting and empty!".

Instead, the reception-faith will lead us to grow from useless slaves to Sons; co-workers and allies of the Father.

From crude submissive and slavishly obedient, to family, friends, and kinsmen-friends.

Otherwise we will remain in the puerile condition of children and servants "of no account" (v.10) who neither express themselves nor reinterpret, but remain submissive and do only "what they must".

The religion of merits and roles is deleterious; it produces malaise. It manages the real estate empire but moves forward by inertia and with a defensive attitude.

It does not reinvent the present, nor does it open up the future.

It does not listen to needs, rather it pushes us to shape relationships on the basis of selfishness, even spiritual selfishness.

Here, we no longer look at what spontaneously arises - forcing our faculties to evaluations that are all predictable, conformist.

Life therefore becomes impoverished, desertifying itself, because it is intimidated.

Becoming an absurd farce that Jesus does not want: a jumble of swampy attitudes, incapable of reactivating us - inattentive to the special actions that turn routine into adventure.Paraphrasing the encyclical Brothers All, in those conditions it would sound "like a delirium" even to elaborate "great objectives for the development of all humanity" (no.16).

We would lack a sense of the Mystery, never perceived in the furrows of history: we would drag ourselves into the remedies, protecting only the trance.

The relationship of Friendship and Gratuity would be replaced by an induced model (and in Italy we know it well, unfortunately).

A model that then does not allow one to meet oneself and others; indeed, it would even deform the relationship with God.

Salaried employees - less human and less unique - means less 'divine': everything is already known, guided and foreseen as in the plots of puppets on a stage.

No unexpected changes; no inexplicable transformations.

No exceptional recovery, no astonishing human and cultural prodigy (v.6).

No unpredictability that sees the 'sacred' in the thousands of situations that Providence invents, stimulating new responses.

The mystic Ibn Ata Allah - Master of the two sciences [wisdom of analysis and experience of mystical intoxication] - claimed:

"If you want the door of fear to be opened to you, look at what goes from you to Him. If you want the door of Hope to be opened to you, look at what comes to you from Him'.

To internalise and live the message:

What would you like to do for God? How do you live Hope?