As St Paul writes to the Philippians, the Passion is the great act of humility of Jesus, who is the Son of God, true God from true God. Jesus, carrying his Cross, takes on himself the role of the suffering servant of the Book of Isaiah, that of the lone psalmist apparently abandoned by God. But as Jesus goes to his Passion and death on the Cross, he doesn’t go alone. Jesus is with his disciples and sends his disciples to a certain man to borrow his donkeys. Thus, this man com

Lent already has a certain sobriety, a certain restraint, a certain call to repentance. But now something intensifies. The crosses are veiled. The images are covered. The Church seems to withdraw even what is familiar and consoling, as if to say: now we must walk more closely with Christ into the shadow of His Passion. It is striking that at this threshold the Gospel gives us the raising of Lazarus. At first sight, it is a Gospel full of grief, delay, tears, and death. But in

In the long aftermath of his healing, the man who’d been born blind testifies to Jesus before he sees him.  And that's how it is with every one of us: we witness to Jesus by what we say and do long before, it seems, we get to see him face-to-face. That witness precedes sight, that testimony comes before certainty, speaks to us about the minimums needed to become Christian.  It's not necessary that all questions are answered or that all doubts have been dispelled.  We certainl