And what you will do to the least of you…

There are words that can't be tamed. Words that never age. Words that, if you take them seriously, force you to look within without excuses.

Jesus, during his Passion, always surprises. He doesn't cry out for vengeance, he doesn't hurl curses. He doesn't even try to defend himself: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."“

But when it comes to the little ones, the fragile creatures, his voice becomes stony. No nuance, no compromise: "Truly, I say to you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.".

It's a sentence, plain and simple. It doesn't speak of generic guilt, it speaks of concrete actions. Either you do it, or you don't. And if you don't, it's as if you've turned your back on Him.

So, tell me: when someone brandishes the Gospel like a rallying weapon, when they shout "God, Country, and Family" from a political stage, do they really understand what they're saying? Because if God is reduced to an election slogan, if Country becomes an exclusionary enclosure, if Family is merely an empty word good for posters... then we're already way off track.

The Gospel doesn't bend to convenience. The Gospel inconveniences you, forces you to change, to look at those you don't want to look at: the poor, the stranger, the child who has nothing.

We live in a world that classifies even innocence. There are children who have the right to school, to play, to a future. And children who are born already rejected, already marked by an invisible condemnation.

We're not just talking about "Serie A" and "Serie B": the harshest truth is that the majority don't even step onto the pitch. They don't have shoes, they don't have referees, they don't have rules to protect them. They're out of the championship of life before it's even begun.

And then there's Gaza.

Every day, images of gutted hospitals, schools transformed into rubble, children pulled from the dust with eyes wide with terror.

Yet, if you dare say it's unacceptable, they accuse you of... anti-Semitism. But aren't the real anti-Semites those who legitimize the genocide of a people, betraying the very memory they claim to defend?

Those who applaud bombings protect no one: they only sow hatred that will return, even more ferocious.

The child in Gaza under the rubble and the child in Tel Aviv in a bunker have the same right to wake up tomorrow morning.

And they are no different from the child in Milan or Nairobi: the pain has the same crying, the same hunger, the same fear.

The Gospel doesn't say, "Protect only those who are like you." It says, "What you do, or don't do, to the least of these... you do, or don't do, to me.".

The question, in the end, remains there. Motionless, sharp as a blade.

What if it were your son under that rubble? What if it were your daughter without a bed, a glass of water, a caress? Would it still be enough for you to say, "It's none of my business"?

Perhaps this is where Jesus puts us against the wall: not before God, but before ourselves. Because it's not about religion, nor politics, nor ideology.

It's all about looks.

Of real faces.

Of small hands to hold.

This is where our humanity is measured.

And, if we truly believe in something, that's where our faith is measured.

The rest is just damned words and politics without a shred of soul.