A reflection on Matthew 14:22–33 It is a night of uncertainty. The Gospel tells us so in the very setting of the scene: a boat far from land, a contrary wind, darkness stretching on with no sign of morning. The disciples know this night well and so do we. Jesus comes to them walking on the water in the fourth watch, between three and six in the morning, at the hour when the body is most exhausted and hope is thinnest. And where there is uncertainty, there is fear. Fear, when

I see you often, a shadow without a face, yet I see you everywhere, child I never had.... You have your mother's eyes, you wait for me in playgrounds I walk past, in the small shoes of strangers, in the silence after the church empties and someone else's child laughs in the courtyard. I chose another fatherhood — or it chose me — and still you come, So you were never absent, only scattered. God took the one face I gave up and broke it like bread into a hundred: the boy who se

Who gives you the strength to rise in the morning and do what must be done? Who are your heroes, your myths? My heroes are unknown: stars without a stage, saints without a halo. They are the parents who hide the sweat of their work and stifle their tears in the silence of the night, then wake before everyone else and prepare breakfast as though nothing had happened. I am a fan of the losers more than the winners. I love the ones who tried and were not chosen, the many Sisyphu

I have officiated so many weddings; I have lost count. Nevertheless, the joy of that day is always with me, like confetti in my pockets. Every couple carried something different to the altar. Some trembling, some laughing, some crying... It is the hands I remember, not the faces: two hands joined, and mine laid over them like a small roof over a new house. I remember their beauty, the magic dresses that seem to come from an ancient world or a childhood fantasy story. We stood

Dearest Parishioners, After almost four years, I am taking some holidays. In truth, I am forcing myself to take them, for one simple reason: I love what I do. My mission is not a job, and so, even when my body and my mind are tired, my heart is always on fire. Søren Kierkegaard, the Danish philosopher, says that the purpose of life is to find something or someone worth living and dying for. For me, that reason is the enlargement of the Kingdom of God. I love reading that some

The Mother has gone away. Another of the women who forged what I am, has left this world. I weep, like everyone who has lost their mother. I search for her in my memory, and find her there in an enchanted garden where I spent my childhood. Ring a Ring a Roses; oranges, tangerines and prickly pears in every direction. Ring a Ring a Roses The sisters’ enchanted garden, now is an abandoned forest that has buried the innocence of generations of children. The castle of the little

My apologies. I did not celebrate the New Year. People keep asking me the same question:“So, how did you celebrate New Year’s Eve?” I smile, change the subject, postpone the answer. But maybe it is time to tell the truth. I went to bed at 9:30 pm. I tried not to hear people shouting, toasting, celebrating, or the fireworks exploding over Sydney Harbour. I know—hopeless. Not exactly postcard material or Instagram stories. I am not saying they should have done the same. But I s

Happy New Year to you who are close to me, and with your arm, you support me on my journey. Happy New Year to you who are far away, we don't see each other anymore, we speak little or not at all, but you are always in my heart and in my memories. Happy New Year to you who hurt me, but your dagger was the key that opened an unexpected future for me. Happy New Year to you, friend of my early youth, you and I have never separated. Happy New Year to you who are no longer here, bu

A letter written on the occasion of the wedding I celebrated on 22 November 2025 . (I wrote a letter for a morning fifty years from now. So, Jarrod, good news: I pretended you had already survived the marriage!) Good morning my love! Today is November 22, 2075, and it’s hard to believe that we are celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary. Happy anniversary to us! I used to fear that, as the years went by, my memories would slowly fade. And yet, looking back, I remember almost

“When did you feel the call?” “What did your parents say?” “Have you ever been in a relationship?” “How long have you been a priest?” These are the questions I hear most often. But today, I want to answer a different question: When did I truly become a priest? Not formally, not on paper, not the date you find in a calendar, but the moment my heart became a priestly heart. It’s a very important question. It is like asking a married person: “When did you truly become a husba

Nonna, how are you, where are you, who have you become in the afterlife?

When I look at the trend of weddings held outdoors — beneath trees, beside lakes, on a beach, in a vineyard — I think about how much these ceremonies reveal about who we are and where we stand as a society.

“Lord, where can I meet you?”“Come,” the Lord answers, “meet me at my favourite spot.” “Where is your favourite spot?” I reply.The Lord says, “Meet me at the border.”

They are now 130 miles from Gaza—the crew members of the Flotilla. What will Israel do, and who are these adventurers of human rights ? On their website, they declare their belief in: “Justice, freedom, and the sanctity of human life.” On the same site, one can even follow the live broadcast of their navigation—something I find deeply striking. Some admire them; others dismiss them as exhibitionists.I don’t know the answer. But one thing is certain: they are putting their l