16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (year A)   [19 July 2026]

First Reading from the Book of Wisdom (12:3, 16–19)

The Book of Wisdom, written in Greek by a Jew from Alexandria shortly before the coming of Christ, is addressed to people steeped in Greek culture, which exalted intelligence and philosophy as the highest paths to knowledge. The author, however, reminds us that true wisdom belongs to God and that his mysteries are not attained through human knowledge, but are received as a gift and with humility. This is the same truth that Jesus expresses when he points out that the Father reveals his secrets to the little ones rather than to the wise of this world (Mt 11:25, Lk 10:21). The central theme of the text is the relationship between omnipotence and mercy. On the one hand, God is the absolute Lord of the universe: there is no other God; he rules over all things and possesses infinite power. On the other hand, this power is not manifested through violence, but through gentleness and goodness: God cares for all things, judges with leniency, governs with tenderness and, after sin, always offers the possibility of conversion. The author puts forward a surprising idea: God is merciful precisely because he is almighty. Human beings, often insecure about their own authority, feel the need to flaunt their power; God, on the other hand, who possesses all power, has nothing to prove. This is why his power is expressed in patience, forgiveness and tenderness. This image of God is the fruit of a long journey of revelation. Through the prophets, Israel learnt that God is not a tyrannical ruler, but a loving Father. Like Elijah on Mount Horeb, believers discover that God does not reveal himself in the storm or the earthquake, but in the gentle breeze. His strength is unobtrusive yet invincible, for it is the strength of love. This discovery also has implications for humankind. If we are created in God’s image, we are called to imitate his way of acting. Therefore, the righteous do not seek domination or violence, but humanity, compassion and service. Jesus takes up this same teaching when he instructs his disciples that the logic of power must not prevail amongst them, but rather that of the service of love (Mk 9:35; Mt 20:26–27; Mt 23:11; Lk 22:26). In short, God’s greatness does not lie in dominating by force, but in saving through mercy; and his omnipotence is manifested in forbearance, forgiveness and the ability to always offer humankind a new chance. Those who wish to resemble God must make goodness—and not power—the measure of their lives.

Responsorial Psalm (85/86)  

In this psalm, the image of a tender and merciful God emerges, one who reveals his power through mercy. If we read the psalm in the light of the first reading, taken from the Book of Wisdom, we realise that the author marvels at both God’s greatness and his tenderness. One explains the other, for if God is forgiving towards humankind, it is precisely because He is almighty. And this dual emphasis – forgiveness and greatness – recurs in the stanzas of the psalm: the 1st and 3rd stanzas focus on forgiveness; the second stanza is about greatness.  First stanza: ‘You who are good and forgiving, you are full of mercy towards those who call upon you.’  Third stanza: ‘You, Lord, are a merciful and compassionate God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness. Turn to me and have mercy.’  2nd stanza: “Great are You and You work wonders; You alone are God”. In the third stanza, “a merciful and compassionate God” leads us to God’s great revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai (Ex 34:6). It comes at the worst possible moment, immediately after the episode of the golden calf, when Moses, in his anger, had broken the tablets of the Law. The Covenant had been desecrated by the people, who had made themselves an idol. God does not renounce the Covenant: he tells Moses to carve two new stone tablets, upon which he will inscribe the same words. This is a sign of mercy. And it is precisely here that he says: “God, merciful and gracious, slow to anger…”. It is interesting to note Moses’ reaction here (cf. Ex 34:8–9). The author of the psalm reacts just as Moses did: he recalls God’s mercy and ‘takes Him at His word’, imploring Him: ‘You, Lord, God of tenderness and compassion… Turn your gaze upon me and have mercy on me’.  In all our prayers, we too recall his merciful plan for humanity and implore him to hasten its fulfilment (cf. Rom 8:26–27). The parallel with the Book of Exodus continues because, following the revelation and Moses’ response, God establishes a covenant (cf. Ex 34:10). But the psalm adds something new compared with the Book of Exodus, as it was written much later. During the Babylonian exile, Israel became aware of the universal nature of God’s plan—namely, that all nations are called to know him. But how can they come to know him? By discovering God’s work on behalf of his people. The Jewish people do not presume to convert others, but they understand that God’s work on their behalf becomes a means of conversion for other nations: if they open their eyes, they recognise the God of Israel as their Saviour and turn to him. 

Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans (8:26–27)

Saint Paul has already said that the life of the baptised is under the influence of the Spirit. He emphasises once again the role of the Holy Spirit (in this chapter he mentions him 18 times). He highlights that the life of the baptised unfolds entirely under his influence, if we allow ourselves to be guided by him. The Spirit dwells within us, and God’s great plan is like the process of childbirth. The labour pains are the prelude to great joy. “I consider that the sufferings of the present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed… We know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth.” And it is the Spirit who guides our prayer, as we read in this very brief text which nevertheless contains an important contrast: on the one hand, in the last verse: ‘it is in accordance with God’s will that the Spirit intercedes for the saints’; on the other: ‘he comes to the aid of our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought’. It teaches us that we pray by entering into God’s will, looking at the world and at ourselves through God’s eyes; rejoicing in the signs—however small—of the Kingdom’s advance, which are brotherhood, sharing, solidarity and respect. We must never lose heart in the face of humanity’s slow progress, for the Spirit blows ceaselessly even if it is not always visible. The reference to the Lord’s Prayer is immediate: ‘Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven’—three expressions that draw us into God’s plans.  We need the help of the Holy Spirit to enlighten our prayer, just as Jesus promised: “I will pray to the Father, and he will give you another Paraclete to be with you for ever” (Jn 14:16). He knows the secrets of God’s plan, as Paul so aptly puts it: “The Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God… We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who comes from God, so that we may know what God has bestowed upon us’ (1 Cor 2:10–12). And the model is Jesus, always guided by the Spirit: his whole life is marked by the fulfilment of the Father’s mission, right up to Gethsemane, when he proclaims, ‘Father, not my will, but yours be done’ (Mark 14:36). And the author of the Letter to the Hebrews sums up his life thus: “Upon entering the world, Christ says… ‘Behold, I have come to do your will, O God’” (Hebrews 10:5, 9).

From the Gospel according to Matthew (13:24–43) 

The parable of the weeds is not primarily intended to explain the origin of evil, although it reaffirms a fundamental principle: God is not the author of evil. As in the account in Genesis, everything God has created is good; the owner of the field sows only good wheat, whilst the weeds are the work of an enemy. In the context of the Gospel of Matthew, however, this parable is linked to that of the sower. Having shown that the proclamation of the Kingdom does not always bear the hoped-for fruit, Jesus addresses a new question: why not immediately remove what stands in the way of good? The servants suggest pulling up the weeds, but the owner forbids this so as not to uproot the wheat as well. Only at harvest time will the separation take place.

The message is clear: it is not for human beings to pass final judgement or to eliminate evil in others; this task belongs to God. Jesus therefore invites us to live with the simultaneous presence of good and evil in the world and within communities, avoiding elitist or fanatical attitudes. Matthew was probably addressing a community tempted to draw a rigid distinction between the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’. At the end of time, God will make the final judgement. The Bible often presents judgement as a separation between the righteous and the wicked, but the reality is deeper: the line separating good from evil runs through the heart of every person. No one is merely righteous or merely holy, but we all carry within us both the good wheat and the weeds. God will not destroy the good along with the evil: he will save that which, in each of us, is capable of bearing fruit. After the parable of the weeds, Jesus tells the parables of the mustard seed and the yeast. Whilst the previous parables highlighted the obstacles to the Kingdom, these reveal its inner strength. What is small and hidden inevitably grows to full realisation: the seed becomes a great tree and the yeast causes the whole dough to rise. Herein lies the central teaching that Jesus sets out in three fundamental attitudes: trust, because the Kingdom of God grows even when we cannot see it; patience, because the harvest will come at the time appointed by God; and humility, because no one can consider themselves entirely righteous or authorised to judge others. God’s patience stems from his desire not to lose even a single good ear of corn amongst the weeds. But above all, it reveals that God never ceases to hope for humanity’s conversion and for the transformation of the ‘tares’ in our hearts into good grain. This is the true meaning of his merciful patience.     

+Giovanni D’Ercole

Incarnation, or emptiness of humanity

(Mt 12:1-8)

On the conversion journey, conflicts of conscience are not parentheses or accidents of the path, but crucial knots.

The genuineness of believing then generates implicative strenght and new expressive abilities.

The alternative is between Intimacy and practice of Faith, or religion that condemns people without fault (v.7):

According to ordinary religious assessments, the legislation was worth more than hunger... but God’s experience in the life overturns ideas elaborated by experts.

To be honest, observance of the Sabbath had become a central law not because of theological subtleties, very well because in the period of the Exile the weekly rest had allowed believers to gather, share hopes, encourage each other, maintain the identity of the people.

But legalism ended up stifling the spirit of the day of worship, once a sign of a freedom in the service of people faith and happiness.

Thus where Jesus arrives, every spiritual module empty of humanity crumbles, and the Incarnation takes hold: the place where God and man  seriously ‘rest’ [other than the saturday!].

Therefore the Lord quotes the prophet Hosea, a man with a raw experience, but who clearly defines the summit of intimacy with God: an authentic Rite is to realize the needs of our neighbour and to have the heart in the others’ hopes.

The archaic «sacrifice» [«sacrum-facere», making sacred] reflected an idea of cutting, separation and distance between the perfect world of "heaven" and the profane existence of people.

But after the coming of the «Son of Man» (v.8) the new consecrated persons will not live far from the day-to-day existence.

Rather, they will be the first to welcome and relieve those in need.

Sign of the Covenant with God, and Encounter [authentic sanctification] is an ‘adherence’ that continues in the plot of days.

After the Messianic Hymn of Jubilation and the «Gladness of the Simple» that supplants the «yoke» of the ancient religion (Mt 11:25-30), the Master presents himself to the Pharisees in the (stand-in) regal guise of David, who sets out to conquer the alternative Kingdom, even with a small handful of followers.

To the slavery of customs, Christ opposes a looseness that makes the encounter between God and his people more agile, more spontaneous, richer and more personal.

A trail of light - even for us - in the face of the current pastoral collapse (despite the plethora of structures on the ground!).

In the time of the global crisis that seems to mortgage the future [and there is still an attempt to calculate it by directing it a priori, according to selective interests] the challenge is more open than ever.

To internalize and live the message:

How did you perceive that you were reliving Christ in the fluency of the norms?

[Friday 15th wk. in O.T.  July 17, 2026]

Incarnation for one’s own sake and for the sake of the world, or the spiritual form devoid of humanity

(Mt 12:1–8)

    On the path to conversion, conflicts of conscience are not mere interludes or hiccups along the way, but crucial turning points.

The authenticity of faith then generates an implicative force and new capacities for expression.

The choice is between intimacy with God and the practice of faith, or a religion that condemns the blameless (v. 7):

According to conventional religious views, the law was more important than hunger…

Yes, there is much to discuss, quite simply, but little to argue about: the experience of God in one’s life overturns the ideas devised by experts.

To be honest, observance of the Sabbath had become a central law not because of theological subtleties, but because during the Exile, the weekly rest had allowed people to gather, share hopes, encourage one another and maintain their identity as a people.

But legalism ended up stifling the spirit of the day of worship, once a sign of a freedom in the service of faith and humanity, neither of which can be enslaved.

Thus, wherever Jesus comes, every spiritual form devoid of humanity crumbles, and the Incarnation takes hold: the place where God and humankind truly rest [forget about the Sabbath!].

A litmus test of the irruption of the new Kingdom is the flare-up of conflicts with the leaders, officials, court intellectuals and rulers!

They built their prestige on a jumble of false teachings, which had nothing to do with the purpose of the divine Law.

Dogs don’t eat dogs, so the troublemakers of tradition and the letter of the law had never spoken out against David’s transgressive behaviour.

It so happens that those in the driving seat and the unsavoury fundamentalists do not turn against one another…

On the Sabbath, the priests had far more sacred duties and tasks—such as preparation, slaughter and tidying up the Sanctuary—than on other days of the week, and the Torah obliged them to do so… the same happens to us too.

So the Lord quotes the prophet Hosea, a man of harsh experience, yet one who clearly defines the pinnacle of intimacy with God: true worship lies in recognising the needs of one’s neighbour and having a heart attuned to the needs of others.

The archaic concept of ‘sacrifice’ [sacrum facere, to make sacred] reflected an idea of division, separation and distance between the perfect world of ‘heaven’ and people’s mundane lives.

But after the coming of the ‘Son of Man’ (v. 8), the newly consecrated will not live in seclusion, above the fray, far removed from everyday existence.

Rather, they will be the first to welcome and lift up those in need.

Christ highlights the poverty of all legalistic and hypocritical attachments in the way we conceive of our relationship with the Father.

The sign of the Covenant with God, and the Encounter (authentic sanctification), is the commitment that continues in the fabric of daily life and in his active Person – not a ridiculous idolatry of observances or ritual interludes.

Acts and rites celebrate love; and genuine fulfilment does not merely mimic the pedantic ‘how we ought to be’, but rather expresses a liberation of the person.

The biblical episode that Jesus cites might perhaps have seemed not entirely relevant to the theoretical question: his disciples did not appear to be kings, nor even priests.

Yet in the new age that is upon us, yes: ‘rulers’ of their own lives by Grace and Calling, as well as ‘mediators’ [of divine blessings upon humanity] – and also Prophets.

The authentic ones will no longer play the double game of the old showmen, those touchy professionals of the sacred – nor will they condemn the innocent and the needy (v.7).

In Mark 2:27, Jesus puts the commandment into perspective: ‘The Sabbath was made [was instituted, has its purpose] for man, and not man for the Sabbath’.

The loving God enters into a dialogue and a friendship with us that invites, inspires and gives us a zest for action.

The Tao Te Ching (xiii) states:

‘To those who value themselves for the sake of the world, the world may be entrusted. To those who care for themselves for the sake of the world, the world may be confided.’

Christ counters the bondage of custom with a freedom that makes the encounter between God and his people more agile, more spontaneous, richer and more personal.

This is the outcome of a messianic consciousness, precisely that of the ‘Son of Man’ (v. 8): greater than the Temple (v. 6) because it is incarnate.

In this way, it is passed on to us, his brothers and friends – who are most closely united to Him and intimately bound to Him through Faith.

After the Hymn of Messianic Jubilation and the ‘joy of the simple’ which supplants the ‘yoke’ of the ancient religion (Mt 11:25–30), the Master presents himself to the Pharisees in the royal figure of David, who sets out to conquer the alternative ‘Kingdom’, even with a small band of followers.

A ray of light – for us too – in the face of the current pastoral collapse (despite the plethora of institutions across the country!).

In this time of global crisis that seems to be jeopardising the future (whilst attempts are still being made to predict it by directing it a priori, according to selective interests), the challenge is more open than ever.

The Contrast over Justice

‘It is precisely because of this personal experience of his relationship with Jesus Christ that Paul now places at the heart of his Gospel an irreducible opposition between two alternative paths to righteousness: one built upon the works of the Law, the other founded on the grace of faith in Christ. The alternative between righteousness through the works of the Law and that through faith in Christ thus becomes one of the dominant themes running through his Epistles: “We, who are Jews by birth and not sinful Gentiles, yet knowing that a person is not justified by the works of the Law but only through faith in Jesus Christ, have also believed in Christ Jesus, so that we might be justified by faith in Christ and not by the works of the Law; for by the works of the Law no one will ever be justified” (Gal 2:15–16). And to the Christians in Rome he reiterates that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, but are justified freely by his grace, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Rom 3:23–24). He adds: “We hold, in fact, that a person is justified by faith, apart from the works of the Law” (ibid. 28). At this point, Luther translated: ‘justified by faith alone’. I shall return to this point at the end of the catechesis. First, we must clarify what this ‘Law’ is from which we are set free, and what those ‘works of the Law’ are that do not justify. Even within the community at Corinth, there was a view that would later recur systematically throughout history; this view held that the Law in question was the moral law and that Christian freedom therefore consisted in liberation from ethics. Thus, the phrase “πάντα μοι έξεστιν” (everything is lawful for me) was circulating in Corinth. It is obvious that this interpretation is mistaken: Christian freedom is not licentiousness; the liberation of which St Paul speaks is not liberation from doing good.

But what, then, does the Law mean—from which we are set free and which does not save? For St Paul, as for all his contemporaries, the word ‘Law’ meant the Torah in its entirety, that is, the five books of Moses. The Torah, in the Pharisaic interpretation—which Paul had studied and made his own—entailed a complex set of behaviours ranging from the ethical core to the ritual and liturgical observances that essentially defined the identity of the righteous person. In particular, these included circumcision, the observances concerning clean food and ritual purity in general, the rules regarding the observance of the Sabbath, and so on. Such behaviours frequently feature in the debates between Jesus and his contemporaries. All these observances, which expressed a social, cultural and religious identity, had become particularly significant during the Hellenistic period, beginning in the 3rd century BC. This culture, which had become the dominant culture of the time, and was an apparently rational, polytheistic and seemingly tolerant culture, exerted strong pressure towards cultural uniformity and thus threatened the identity of Israel, which was politically compelled to assimilate into this shared Hellenistic cultural identity, resulting in the loss of its own identity and, consequently, the loss of the precious heritage of the faith of the Fathers—the faith in the one God and in God’s promises.

Against this cultural pressure, which threatened not only Israel’s identity but also faith in the one God and in his promises, it was necessary to erect a wall of distinction, a defensive shield to protect the precious heritage of faith; this wall consisted precisely of Jewish observances and prescriptions. Paul, who had learnt of these observances precisely in their defensive role in safeguarding God’s gift—the heritage of faith in the one God—saw this identity threatened by the freedom of the Christians: this is why he persecuted them. At the moment of his encounter with the Risen One, he realised that with Christ’s resurrection the situation had changed radically. Through Christ, the God of Israel—the one true God—became the God of all peoples. The wall—as he says in the Letter to the Ephesians—between Israel and the Gentiles was no longer necessary: it is Christ who protects us against polytheism and all its deviations; it is Christ who unites us with and in the one God; it is Christ who guarantees our true identity amidst the diversity of cultures. The wall is no longer necessary; our common identity amidst the diversity of cultures is Christ, and it is he who makes us righteous. To be righteous simply means to be with Christ and in Christ. And that is enough. No further observances are required. Therefore, Luther’s expression ‘sola fide’ is true, provided that faith is not set in opposition to charity, to love. Faith is looking to Christ, entrusting oneself to Christ, clinging to Christ, conforming oneself to Christ and to his life. And the form, the life of Christ, is love; therefore, to believe is to conform oneself to Christ and to enter into his love. That is why Saint Paul, in his Letter to the Galatians—in which he developed his doctrine on justification above all—speaks of faith working through love (cf. Gal 5:14).

Paul knows that in the twofold love of God and neighbour, the whole Law is present and fulfilled. Thus, in communion with Christ, in the faith that gives rise to charity, the whole Law is fulfilled. We become righteous by entering into communion with Christ, who is love.”

[Pope Benedict, General Audience, 19 November 2008]

To internalise and live out the message:

Have you experienced oppression or exclusion in the name of the Law? Do you think this was because you had offended God, or because you dared to challenge the status quo or question someone and their cultural paradigm?

How have you experienced coming alive to Christ through the flexibility of the rules? What conflicts are the cause of ecclesial debate and controversy which you believe create division and suffering around you?

At the centre of the liturgy of the Word for this Sunday there is a saying of the Prophet Hosea to which Jesus refers in the Gospel: "I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God, rather than burnt offerings" (Hos 6: 6). It is a key word, one of those that bring us into the heart of Sacred Scripture. The context in which Jesus makes it his own is the calling of Matthew, a "publican" by profession, in other words a tax collector for the Roman imperial authority: for this reason the Jews considered him a public sinner. Having called Matthew precisely when he was sitting at his tax counter - this scene is vividly depicted in a very famous painting by Caravaggio -, Jesus took his disciples to Matthew's home and sat at the table together with other publicans. To the scandalized Pharisees he answered: "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.... For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners" (Mt 9: 12-13). Here, the Evangelist Matthew, ever attentive to the link between the Old and New Testaments, puts Hosea's prophecy on Jesus' lips: "Go and learn what this means, "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice'".

These words of the Prophet are so important that the Lord cited them again in another context, with regard to the observance of the Sabbath (cf. Mt 12: 1-8). In this case too he assumed responsibility for the interpretation of the precept, showing himself to be "Lord" of even the legal institutions. Addressing the Pharisees he added: "If you had known what this means, "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice', you would not have condemned the guiltless" (Mt 12: 7). Thus in Hosea's oracle Jesus, the Word made man, fully "found himself", as it were; he wholeheartedly made these words his own and put them into practice with his behaviour, even at the cost of upsetting his People's leaders. God's words have come down to us, through the Gospels, as a synthesis of the entire Christian message: true religion consists in love of God and neighbour. This is what gives value to worship and to the practice of the precepts.

[Pope Benedict, Angelus 8 June 2008]

I want mercy and not sacrifice...". (Mt 9:13).

The one who speaks these words is Jesus Christ: He who offered the most perfect sacrifice of Himself to God. This sacrifice was simultaneously the supreme revelation of the Father, who is God "rich in mercy" (Eph 2:4). During Lent, the Church meditates on her knees on this mystery: the mystery of sacrifice and mercy, and seeks to build her inner life and service from it. One must enter very deeply into this mystery of Christ's sacrifice in order to fulfil each day, with the strength that comes from it, the mission of mercy, that is, of love, which in Christ is always greater than any evil.

It is necessary to enter very deeply into the mystery of Christ's sacrifice in order to make all service to those who are in need of our mercy flow from it every day: the service of the Church and of all people of good will.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 29 March 1981]

We have heard the Gospel account of the call of Matthew. Matthew was a “publican”, namely, a tax collector on behalf of the Roman Empire, and for this reason was considered a public sinner. But Jesus calls Matthew to follow him and to become his disciple. Matthew accepts, and invites Jesus along with the disciples to have dinner at his house. Thus an argument arises between the Pharisees and the disciples of Jesus over the fact that the latter sit at the table with tax collectors and sinners. “You cannot go to these people’s homes!”, they said. Jesus does not stay away from them, but instead goes to their houses and sits beside them; this means that they too can become his disciples. It is likewise true that being Christian does not render us flawless. Like Matthew the tax collector, each of us trusts in the grace of the Lord regardless of our sins. We are all sinners, we have all sinned. By calling Matthew, Jesus shows sinners that he does not look at their past, at their social status, at external conventions, but rather, he opens a new future to them. I once heard a beautiful saying: “There is no saint without a past nor a sinner without a future”. This is what Jesus does. There is no saint without a past nor a sinner without a future. It is enough to respond to the call with a humble and sincere heart. The Church is not a community of perfect people, but of disciples on a journey, who follow the Lord because they know they are sinners and in need of his pardon. Thus, Christian life is a school of humility which opens us to grace.

Such behaviour is not understood by those who have the arrogance to believe they are “just” and to believe they are better than others. Hubris and pride do not allow one to recognize him- or herself as in need of salvation, but rather prevent one from seeing the merciful face of God and from acting with mercy. They are a barrier. Hubris and pride are a barrier that prevents a relationship with God. Yet, this is precisely Jesus’ mission: coming in search of each of us, in order to heal our wounds and to call us to follow him with love. He says so explicitly: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick” (v. 12). Jesus presents himself as a good physician! He proclaims the Kingdom of God, and the signs of its coming are clear: He heals people from disease, frees them from fear, from death, and from the devil. Before Jesus, no sinner is excluded — no sinner is excluded! Because the healing power of God knows no infirmity that cannot be healed; and this must give us confidence and open our heart to the Lord, that he may come and heal us.

By calling sinners to his table, he heals them, restoring to them the vocation that they believed had been lost and which the Pharisees had forgotten: that of being guests at God’s banquet. According to the prophecy of Isaiah: “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the lees well refined.... It will be said on that day, ‘Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation” (25:6, 9).

When the Pharisees see only sinners among the invited, and refuse to be seated with them, Jesus to the contrary reminds them that they too are guests at God’s table. Thus, sitting at the table with Jesus means being transformed and saved by him. In the Christian community the table of Jesus is twofold: there is the table of the Word and there is the table of the Eucharist (cf. Dei Verbum, n. 21). These are the medicines with which the Divine Physician heals us and nourishes us. With the first — the Word — He reveals himself and invites us to a dialogue among friends. Jesus was not afraid to dialogue with sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes.... No, he was not afraid: he loved everyone! His Word permeates us and, like a scalpel, operates deep in the heart so as to free us from the evil lurking in our life. At times this Word is painful because it discloses deception, reveals false excuses, lays bare hidden truths; but at the same time it illuminates and purifies, gives strength and hope; it is an invaluable tonic on our journey of faith. The Eucharist, for its part, nourishes us with the very life of Jesus, like an immensely powerful remedy and, in a mysterious way, it continuously renews the grace of our Baptism. By approaching the Eucharist we are nourished of the Body and Blood of Jesus, and by entering us, Jesus joins us to his Body!

Concluding that dialogue with the Pharisees, Jesus reminds them of a word of the prophet Hosea (6:6): “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice’” (Mt 9:13). Addressing the people of Israel, the prophet reproaches them because the prayers they raised were but empty and incoherent words. Despite God’s covenant and mercy, the people often lived with a “façade-like” religiosity, without living in depth the command of the Lord. This is why the prophet emphasized: “I desire mercy”, namely the loyalty of a heart that recognizes its own sins, that mends its ways and returns to be faithful to the covenant with God. “And not sacrifice”: without a penitent heart, every religious action is ineffective! Jesus also applies this prophetic phrase to human relationships: the Pharisees were very religious in form, but were not willing to sit at the table with tax collectors and sinners; they did not recognize the opportunity for mending their ways and thus for healing; they did not place mercy in the first place: although being faithful guardians of the Law, they showed that they did not know the heart of God! It is as though you were given a parcel with a gift inside and, rather than going to open the gift, you look only at the paper it is wrapped in: only appearances, the form, and not the core of the grace, of the gift that is given!

Dear brothers and sisters, all of us are invited to the table of the Lord. Let us make our own this invitation and sit beside the Lord together with his disciples. Let us learn to look with mercy and to recognize each of them as fellow guests at the table. We are all disciples who need to experience and live the comforting word of Jesus. We all need to be nourished by the mercy of God, for it is from this source that our salvation flows.

[Pope Francis, General Audience 13 April 2016]

Yoke on the Little Ones: religion turned into obsession - for "held back" people

(Mt 11:28-30)

The rabbis chose the disciples from among those who had greater intellectual and ascetic abilities.

Jesus, on the other hand, goes to look for outside the loop, the «infants» (v.25) who did not even have self-esteem.

He frees precisely the sick from external constraints, and allow each one to release his inner strength.

Christ does not announce a very distant God, but Close; and the effective itinerary to become intimate with the Father is to know oneself as liberated family member.

Only here can we grasp Him in the centre of His ‘unveiling’: wise, helpful, united Power; for us, as we are.

The experts of official religion - overflowing with self-love and sense of election - preached an almighty Sovereign to be convinced with sure attitudes and artificial, sharp, imperious making.

They did not let persons be or become. Intransigence was a sign that they did not know the Father.

The Eternal transformed into Controller had become a source of discrimination and obsession for the intimate lives of minute, vexed by the insecurity of distinguishing-avoiding-observing, and by doubts of conscience.

Bothered by living in the first person [and as class] the conversion they preached to others, the professors did not realize they had to empty themselves of absurd presumptions and become - they - students of normal people.

We are not the subordinates of a scowling and all distant but manipulative Lord, and that asks to always be alert, with effort.

The new ones, the nullities, the voiceless, inadequate and invisible, do not know how to calculate in terms of norm and code - ancient «yoke»  (vv.29-30) that crushes vocations.

No one is empowered by God to force directions, to keep an eye on others in a maniacal, perfectionist and meticulous way [exasperating our failures].

The Father does not want to exacerbate events by regulating every detail even "spiritual" starting from irritating patterns of vigilance that do not belong to us.

Sons prefer to let their personal paths of dealing with reality flow; thus tracing their essential and spontaneous energies.

They reason according to codes of life and humanization: nature, unrepeatable history, cultural influences, friendships of wide character. We do not live to prevent.

Only in this way can we enrich the fundamental experience: Love - which does not come from judgments, cuts and separations, but from the Father-Son relationship. The bond that does not get us angry.

Root of the transformation of being into the Unpredictable of God is precisely the hiding, the concealment [‘tapeínōsis’ (‘lowering’), from ταπεινός (tapeinós, "low") [v.29 Greek text; Lc 1:48].

Only those who love strength start from too far away from themselves.

To internalize and live the message:

Do you suffer from some guide or from yourself a kind of controller complex?

[Thursday 15th wk. in O.T.  July 16, 2026]

Religion turned into obsession - for "held back"

(Mt 11:28-30)

The rabbis chose disciples from among those who had greater intellectual and ascetic abilities. Jesus, on the other hand, went looking for the outcasts, the "infants" (v.25) who did not even have self-esteem.

Even for the rebirth that lies ahead today, Christ has no need of false phenomena; on the contrary, it is He who frees from external constraints; He releases inner strength [and also heals the brain]. 

Into the intimacy of the Mystery of divine life enters he who knows how to receive everything and lets go - but remains himself.

God is not distant, but very close; he is not great, but small: the effective itinerary for becoming intimate with the Father is not to make oneself subordinate with effort, but to know how to be familiar disciples.

Only here can we grasp him in the centre of his unveiling: wise power, succouring, united; for us, as we are.

The experts of official religion - overflowing with self-love and a sense of election - envisaged a God to be convinced with confident attitudes and contrived, edgy, imperious actions.

They allowed neither being nor becoming. Their intransigence was a sign that they did not know the Father.

The Eternal One transformed into the Controller had become a source of discrimination and obsession for the intimate lives of minute people, harassed by the insecurity of distinguish-avoid-observe, and by doubts of conscience.

Discouraged from experiencing at first hand (and as a class) the conversion they preached to others, the professors did not realise that they had to empty themselves of absurd presumptions and become - they - pupils of ordinary people.

In short, as children we are incessantly invited to build a multifaceted family, where we are not always on the alert.

We are not the subordinates of a frowning and all-distant - but manipulative - Lord.

Rather, we are called to a paradoxical, personal and class choice: and without forcing it, to recognise ourselves - to stand alongside the humiliated and harassed.

This while provincial false piety continues to drag the burdens - precisely those of the thwarted and weary, of existence made more hesitant rather than free; obsessed and heavy, rather than light.

Why? Without mincing words, the Encyclical Brothers All would answer:

"The best way to dominate and advance without limits is to sow hopelessness and arouse constant distrust, albeit masked by the defence of certain values" (no.15).

As if to say: when the authorities and the top of the class have little credibility, only the sowing of fear produces significant conditioning in the people, and puts them on a leash.

In the widespread Church, only in the last few decades have we overcome the cliché of moralistic and terroristic preaching [e.g. even at Advent time] divorced from a meridian sense of humanisation.

The excluded, dejected and exhausted by meaningless fulfilments have nevertheless continued to meet the Saviour frankly, finding rest of soul, conviction, peace, balance, hope.

By instinct, they were able to carve out what no pyramid religion had ever been able to provide and deploy.

In this way, the new, the voiceless, the inadequate and invisible, never know how to calculate in terms of doctrine and laws, norm and code - ancient 'yoke' (vv.29-30) unbearable, crushing people and concrete vocations; particular autonomies or communionalities.

In short, no 'patriarch' is empowered by God to pack our souls, force directions, and keep a maniacal, perfectionist, meticulous eye on us.

Exacerbating failures, across the board.

Everyone has an inherent way of being in the world, all their own - even if it is habitual. It is an opportunity for momentum and richness for everyone.

We ourselves do not want to exacerbate events by regulating every detail, even 'spiritual' ones, from irritating patterns of vigilance that do not belong to us.

We prefer to let personal ways of dealing with reality flow; thus tracing its essential and spontaneous energies.

We reason according to codes of life and humanisation: temperament, unrepeatable history, cultural influences, broad friendships. We do not live to prevent.

Only in this way can we enrich the fundamental experience: Love - which does not come from judgements, cuts and separations, but from the Father-Son relationship. The only one that does not stigmatise.

The root of the transformation of being in God's unpredictable is precisely concealment, "tapinōsis" [(tapeínōsis, "lowering"), from ταπεινός (tapeinós, "low") [v.29 Greek text; Lk 1:48].

Only those who love strength begin from too far from themselves.

To internalise and live the message:

Do you find yourself more or less free and serene in community?

Does your Calling gain breath or do you feel the burden of others' doubts, judgements, prohibitions and prescriptions?

Do you suffer from some guide or from yourself a kind of controller complex?

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

The Evangelists Matthew and Luke (cf. Mt 11:25-30 and Lk 10:21-22) have handed down to us a “jewel” of Jesus’ prayer that is often called the Cry of Exultation or the Cry of Messianic Exultation. It is a prayer of thanksgiving and praise, as we have heard. In the original Greek of the Gospels the word with which this jubilation begins and which expresses Jesus’ attitude in addressing the Father is exomologoumai, which is often translated with “I praise” (cf. Mt 11:25 and Lk 10:21). However, in the New Testament writings this term indicates mainly two things: the first is “to confess” fully — for example, John the Baptist asked those who went to him to be baptized to recognize their every sin (cf. Mt 3:6); the second thing is “to be in agreement”. Therefore, the words with which Jesus begins his prayer contain his full recognition of the Father’s action and at the same time, his being in total, conscious and joyful agreement with this way of acting, with the Father’s plan. The “Cry of Exultation” is the apex of a journey of prayer in which Jesus’ profound and close communion with the life of the Father in the Holy Spirit clearly emerges and his divine sonship is revealed.

Jesus addresses God by calling him “Father”. This word expresses Jesus’ awareness and certainty of being “the Son” in intimate and constant communion with him, and this is the central focus and source of every one of Jesus’ prayers. We see it clearly in the last part of the hymn which illuminates the entire text. Jesus said: “All things have been delivered to me by my Father; and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the Son and any one to whom the Son chooses to reveal him” (Lk 10:22). Jesus was therefore affirming that only “the Son” truly knows the Father.

All the knowledge that people have of each other — we all experience this in our human relationships — entails involvement, a certain inner bond between the one who knows and the one who is known, at a more or less profound level: we cannot know anyone without a communion of being. In the Cry of Exultation — as in all his prayers — Jesus shows that true knowledge of God presupposes communion with him. Only by being in communion with the other can I begin to know him; and so it is with God: only if I am in true contact, if I am in communion with him, can I also know him. True knowledge, therefore, is reserved to the “Son”, the Only Begotten One who is in the bosom of the Father since eternity (cf. Jn 1:18), in perfect unity with him. The Son alone truly knows God, since he is in an intimate communion of being; only the Son can truly reveal who God is.

The name “Father” is followed by a second title, “Lord of heaven and earth”. With these words, Jesus sums up faith in creation and echoes the first words of Sacred Scripture: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (Gen 1:1).

In praying, he recalls the great biblical narrative of the history of God’s love for man that begins with the act of creation. Jesus fits into this love story, he is its culmination and its fulfilment. Sacred Scripture is illumined through his experience of prayer and lives again in its fullest breadth: the proclamation of the mystery of God and the response of man transformed. Yet, through the expression: “Lord of heaven and earth”, we can also recognize that in Jesus, the Revealer of the Father, the possibility for man to reach God is reopened.

Let us now ask ourselves: to whom does the Son want to reveal God’s mysteries? At the beginning of the Hymn Jesus expresses his joy because the Father’s will is to keep these things hidden from the learned and the wise and to reveal them to little ones (cf. Lk 10:21). Thus in his prayer, Jesus manifests his communion with the Father’s decision to disclose his mysteries to the simple of heart: the Son’s will is one with the Father’s.

Divine revelation is not brought about in accordance with earthly logic, which holds that cultured and powerful people possess important knowledge and pass it on to simpler people, to little ones. God used a quite different approach: those to whom his communication was addressed were, precisely, “babes”. This is the Father’s will, and the Son shares it with him joyfully. The Catechism of the Catholic Church says: “His exclamation, ‘Yes, Father!’ expresses the depth of his heart, his adherence to the Father’s ‘good pleasure,’ echoing his mother’s ‘Fiat’ at the time of his conception and prefiguring what he will say to the Father in his agony. The whole prayer of Jesus is contained in this loving adherence of his human heart to the ‘mystery of the will’ of the Father (Eph 1:9)” (n. 2603).

The invocation that we address to God in the “Our Father” derives from this: “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven”: together with Christ and in Christ we too ask to enter into harmony with the Father’s will, thereby also becoming his children. Thus Jesus, in this “Cry of Exultation”, expresses his will to involve in his own filial knowledge of God all those whom the Father wishes to become sharers in it; and those who welcome this gift are the “little ones”.

But what does “being little” and simple mean? What is the “littleness” that opens man to filial intimacy with God so as to receive his will? What must the fundamental attitude of our prayer be? Let us look at “The Sermon on the Mount”, in which Jesus says: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God” (Mt 5:8). It is purity of heart that permits us to recognize the face of God in Jesus Christ; it is having a simple heart like the heart of a child, free from the presumption of those who withdraw into themselves, thinking they have no need of anyone, not even God.

It is also interesting to notice the occasion on which Jesus breaks into this hymn to the Father. In Matthew’s Gospel narrative it is joyful because, in spite of opposition and rejection, there are “little ones” who accept his word and open themselves to the gift of faith in him. The “Cry of Exultation” is in fact preceded by the contrast between the praise of John the Baptist — one of the “little ones” who recognized God’s action in Jesus Christ (cf. Mt 11:2-19) — and the reprimand for the disbelief of the lake cities “where most of his mighty works had been performed” (cf. Mt 11:20-24).

Hence Matthew saw the Exultation in relation to the words with which Jesus noted the effectiveness of his word and action: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news of the Gospel preached to them. And blessed is he who takes no offence at me” (Mt 11:4-6).

St Luke also presented the Cry of Exultation in connection with a moment of development in the proclamation of the Gospel. Jesus sent out the “seventy-two” others (Luke 10:1) and they departed fearful of the possible failure of their mission. Luke also emphasized the rejection encountered in the cities where the Lord had preached and had worked miracles. Nonetheless the seventy-two disciples returned full of joy because their mission had met with success; they realized that human infirmities are overcome with the power of Jesus’ word. Jesus shared their pleasure: “in that same hour”, at that very moment, he rejoiced.

There are still two elements that I would like to underline. Luke the Evangelist introduces the prayer with the annotation: Jesus “rejoiced in the Holy Spirit” (Lk 10:21). Jesus rejoiced from the depths of his being, in what counted most: his unique communion of knowledge and love with the Father, the fullness of the Holy Spirit. By involving us in his sonship, Jesus invites us too to open ourselves to the light of the Holy Spirit, since — as the Apostle Paul affirms — “we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words… according to the will of God” (Rom 8:26-27), and reveals the Father’s love to us.

In Matthew’s Gospel, following the Cry of Exultation, we find one of Jesus’ most heartfelt appeals: “Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). Jesus asks us to go to him, for he is true Wisdom, to him who is “gentle and lowly in heart”. He offers us “his yoke”, the way of the wisdom of the Gospel which is neither a doctrine to be learned nor an ethical system but rather a Person to follow: he himself, the Only Begotten Son in perfect communion with the Father.

Dear brothers and sisters, we have experienced for a moment the wealth of this prayer of Jesus. With the gift of his Spirit we too can turn to God in prayer with the confidence of children, calling him by the name Father, “Abba”. However, we must have the heart of little ones, of the “poor in spirit” (Mt 5:3) in order to recognize that we are not self-sufficient, that we are unable to build our lives on our own but need God, that we need to encounter him, to listen to him, to speak to him. Prayer opens us to receiving the gift of God, his wisdom, which is Jesus himself, in order to do the Father’s will in our lives and thus to find rest in the hardships of our journey. Many thanks.

[Pope Benedict, General Audience 7 December 2011]

Bless you, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for you have kept these things hidden from the wise and the learned and revealed them to the little ones...". (Mt 11:25).

This phrase from the Gospel of today's Sunday in July comes to mind, dear brothers and sisters, as we have gathered for the recitation of the Angelus.

Mary is the one to whom the most was revealed, at the moment when the Angel of the Lord appeared before her, announcing: "Behold, you will conceive a son, you will give birth to him and you will call his name Jesus" (Lk 1:31).

She was the first to receive this Truth that transforms the world..., a Truth so often hidden "from the wise and intelligent" of this world... And She, Mary of Nazareth, accepts it with the greatest simplicity of spirit and, therefore, in the most authentic fullness.

As we gather for the Angelus prayer, let us continually open our hearts to the same Divine Truth with such simplicity! May it come to us again and again, in the different places and circumstances of life, whether at work or at rest, as now at holiday time.

May this Divine Truth enable us to build everywhere and daily the life to which we have been called in Christ...: may we repeat with Christ: 'I bless you, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth'. Such fruit of the Angelus prayer I invoke both for you, dear brothers and sisters, and for me.

2. I pray then for you, for each one of you, and for me, that the words that Jesus addresses in today's liturgy to all those who are "weary and oppressed", let us say: suffering, may be fulfilled upon us.

Behold, he says: "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, who am meek and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is soft and my burden light" (Mt 11:29-30).

For the fulfilment of these sacred words upon myself, particularly in the present period of my life, and also upon many, many of my brothers and sisters who are perhaps feeling their "sweet yoke" even more, I pray to Mary, Health of the Sick, / Mary, Refuge of Sinners / Comfort of the Afflicted, / Mary, Help of Christians / and I pray to all the saints.

[Pope John Paul II, Angelus 5 July 1981]