Fifty years ago, at the close of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, Paul VI, in the name of the bishops of the whole world, with the documents of the council meeting, drawn up over many months of work, entrusted the whole Church with the task of being a Samaritan of 'humanity. The Church "expert in humanity" listened to the suggestions of the Holy Spirit in harmony with listening to the joys and sufferings of all humanity. The conciliar documents are words matured on the wavelength of a pastoral commitment in the attempt to provide the Church itself, "Mother and Teacher", with valid tools in giving a soul to time and a divine spark to Christians committed to building that planned Kingdom by Christ with his presence among us realized with his Resurrection.
In Florence, Michelangelo's David is the recognized symbol of Beauty, even if now only of aesthetic beauty, placed as it is inside a museum, outside of any context. He's handsome, there's no doubt about it. But he doesn't "speak". And to think that he was born as a religious symbol. The David sculpted by Michelangelo is the biblical one, which defeats the giant Goliath because he has God with him. Indeed: in that young man who fells the enemy with a slingshot, his author saw Christ, defender of every people, fullness of every collective heroism, goal of every positive individual aspiration.
In our catechesis on the family, today we take direct inspiration from the episode narrated by the evangelist Luke, which we have just listened to (see Luke 7,11:15-XNUMX). It is a very moving scene, which shows us Jesus' compassion for those who suffer – in this case a widow who has lost her only son – and also shows us Jesus' power over death. Death is an experience that affects all families, without exception. It's part of life; yet, when it touches family affections, death never manages to appear natural to us. For parents, surviving their children is something particularly heartbreaking, which contradicts the elementary nature of the relationships that give meaning to the family itself. The loss of a son or daughter is as if time stops: a chasm opens up that swallows up the past and also the future.