The obstinately unique nature of Pope Francis is on a par with that of the Scriptures he loved, which are equally unique. In both the Old and New Testaments, there is something stubborn, resistant and radically narrative (or even radically poetic) that we find in the person of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, a great reader of both the Bible and literature.[1] The Bible is a stumbling block, just like Pope Francis. Undoubtedly, we must start from this fact, which unites Pope Francis with the Bible that inspired him: that of a tenacious, surprising word that sets us free. An episode from the Gospels will help us to “set the scene” in this sense.
In an article published in 2024 in America Magazine, titled “Pope Francis’ focus on the Bible and mercy—and why so many Catholics are uncomfortable with it”, John W. Martens revisits the story of the demon-possessed man in Mark 5.[2] He summarizes the ending as follows: “After Jesus casts out the demons from the man who lived among the tombs, the people beg Jesus to leave. The demoniac, however, begs to follow Jesus. Jesus refuses him, saying, ‘go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you and what mercy he has shown you’ (Mk 5:15).” At this point, Martens quotes the commentary by theologian Micah D. Kiel, who in Reading the Bible in the Age of Francis writes: “Mercy is the surprise that people don’t want because it means they have no way of predicting what God will do and to whom God will do it.”[3] Martens then continues: “For the demoniac, the one shown mercy, it is the surprise that brings joy in abundance. For the people of the region, however, the opposite is true: when they ‘came to see what it was that had happened […], they became frightened’ (Mark 5:14–15). They wanted Jesus to leave.”
It is significant that joy – both that of the demon-possessed man healed by Jesus and that of God’s people in response to Bergoglio’s emphasis on divine mercy – is a joy that has never waned. For Ignatius of Loyola, lasting joy is a criterion, if not the criterion that certifies God’s work.[4] The following pages will explore the wonder and joy aroused in the Church and in the world by Pope Francis’ words and his way of bringing the Word of God to life. Regarding the Gospel, he said that “when we hear […] the words of God, it is not simply a matter of listening to or understanding them […]. They must reach our hearts and bring about […] amazement” because “the Word of God always amazes us; it always renews us. It enters our hearts and always renews us.”[5]
Guiding Words
We might begin this exploration of the “biblical” Bergoglio by examining his style in his extensive commentaries on the Scriptures. In those moments, he is a skilled storyteller, evoking the art of the biblical narrator. We see this particularly in an interview he gave to journalist Stefania Falasca, published in 2007 in 30 Giorni.[6] At one point, the Archbishop of Buenos Aires asked her: “Do you know the biblical story of the prophet Jonah?” The way Bergoglio reworks the biblical account is admirable. In the story he tells, we find the major themes that will constitute the kerygma of his message: divine freedom and the surprises it holds; God’s tireless mercy; the warning against self-centeredness; the outreach to the peripheries, etc. The most striking thing, however, lies in the narrative coherence of these themes. When it comes to articulating these elements with one another, the defining choices of his pastoral ministry, Bergoglio does not resort to a theological system, but to a biblical narrative. This serves as both a framework and as a magnifying glass for God’s surprising plan.
The following pages will focus on the “brief” forms of Pope Francis’ biblical commentary, expressed in just a few words based on a biblical passage. In this sense, Bergoglio’s magisterium was a “magisterium of metaphors.”[7] As both pastor and poet, he was able to forge “guiding words” which, as we shall see, always have a narrative value: they are linked to the biblical story, particularly the Gospels, that they bring to life around themselves.
To speak of prayer as a “struggle with God” is to recall the story of Jacob in Genesis 32: at the ford of the Jabbok, the patriarch is taken by surprise, in the darkness of night, by a mysterious adversary who ultimately blesses him.[8] The metaphor highlights the fact that prayer is far more than a devotional practice: it is a commitment, body and soul, to the God who makes an appointment with us and surprises us. “We all have an appointment with God in the night, in the night of our life, in the many nights of our life.”
To speak of the “shepherd who smells like his sheep” is to recall the story told by Jesus in Luke 15:3-7 about the sheep found by the shepherd: “When he found it, he joyfully carried it on his shoulders” (v. 5; cf. Isa 40:11; 49:22). There is no better way to express the need for pastors to be as close as possible to the people of God, sharing in their lives, joys, and sufferings.
Speaking of a “Church that goes forth” means recalling the call addressed to Abraham in Gen 12:1 (“ Go from your country”) and the exodus from Egypt in Exod 3-15, but also the missionary zeal of the early Church (cf. Matt 28:16-20; Acts 1:8).[9] In the Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (2013), Francis called for “a constantly going forth [on the part of the Church] to the outskirts of its own territory or toward new sociocultural settings” (no. 30).
To speak of the “God of surprises”[10] means, in particular, to recall Isaiah 29:5-6, which evokes the suddenness of God’s saving intervention: “But suddenly, in an instant, you will be visited by the Lord of Hosts.”[11] It also means recalling biblical episodes centered on divine surprises: the revelation at the burning bush in Exod 3:6; God’s nocturnal intervention on David’s behalf in 1 Sam 26:12; or, in the New Testament, the Transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain (cf. Matt 17:3: “And behold…”) and, most notably, his resurrection. The sudden nature of divine surprise also resonates in the account of Pentecost: “Suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting” (Acts 2:2). Surprise manifests itself in the rhythm of an experience, but also in its exceeding of our expectations. The author of the Letter to the Ephesians emphasizes the divine capacity to surpass such expectations: “Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine” (Eph 3:20).
The value of metaphors drawn from the text of Sacred Scripture, and their superiority over conceptual definitions of a philosophical or theological nature, lies in the fact that they enable God’s people to experience God’s faithfulness to his Word. In 1 Sam 3:19, regarding the mission of the young Samuel, the narrator states that God “let none of his words fall to the ground.” In an oracle to the prophet Jeremiah, God adds: “I am watching over my word to perform it” (Jer 1:12).
This dynamic of fulfillment is similarly found in the work of the biblical scribes, in what current scholarship refers to as “the phenomenon of ‘rewriting (Fortschreibung)’.”[12] This rewriting is characterized by its being lemma based, that is, it uses the ancient text, in its constituent linguistic units (lemmas), as the template for the new text. In Exod 34:6-7, the divine attributes of mercy and justice are thus rewritten in the reverse order of their appearance in Exod 20:5-6 (where justice precedes mercy). The aim is to show that the God of the covenant remains true to himself even in the very process of change. By taking up and reorganizing the lemmas of the matrix text, the scribes inscribed the new within the old. This is the phenomenon that contemporary exegesis calls “hermeneutics of innovation,” at once conservative and innovative, which has characterized the growth of the corpus of Scripture. Jesus, who praised those scribes, is part of this tradition: “Every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old” (Matt 13:52). Pope Francis, too, has illustrated this dynamic by creating new metaphors, in their pastoral relevance, “under the mantle” of the ancient text. He has thus enabled the people of God to experience God’s faithfulness to his Word, ancient yet ever-renewed.
The Samaritan Church
A biblical metaphor dear to Pope Francis deserves deeper reflection: that of the “Samaritan Church.”[13] This metaphor has an undeniable scriptural foundation – the parable of the Good Samaritan, told by Jesus in Luke 10:25-37 – but it also has a rich and nuanced interpretive history within the Christian tradition.
The Church Fathers, beginning with Origen (2nd-3rd centuries), interpreted this parable as a symbolic fresco retracing the entire history of salvation. Augustine of Hippo (4th-5th centuries) follows in this vein by proposing a double identification.[14]
On the one hand, the man beaten to a pulp represents all of humanity: “That man lying on the road between life and death is undoubtedly the entire human race, abandoned by robbers, whom a passing priest despised, as did a Levite, but a Samaritan traveling by approached him to tend to him and offer him aid.”
On the other hand, the Samaritan himself is identified with Jesus: “The Lord Jesus Christ chose to reveal himself in that Samaritan. The term ‘Samaritan’ means ‘Guardian.’ By rising from the dead, he dies no more, and death will have no power over him, for the Guardian of Israel neither sleeps nor slumbers. [… Jesus] did not deny being the Guardian of the sick man [that is, of the Samaritan]. Therefore: The Lord is very near, because the Lord has made himself our neighbor.”[15]
In the modern era of the Church, the first to use the story of the Good Samaritan in a symbolic reinterpretation was Paul VI in his closing address at the Second Vatican Council (December 7, 1965): “The old story of the Samaritan has been the model of the spirituality of the council. A feeling of boundless sympathy has permeated the whole of it.”[16] The Aparecida Document (2007) then coined the expression “Samaritan Church.”[17] The Peruvian theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez commented on this expression as follows: “Samaritan” compassion is that of a Church which, in becoming a servant, “has drawn near to the other—wounded, stripped of everything, and helpless.”[18]
Pope Francis has taken up the expression “Samaritan Church” and has interpreted it in various ways.[19] The Samaritan Church, he said, is one that “comforts, engages and stoops to touch the wounds of Christ’s suffering flesh in the people.”[20] Consecrated persons are thus Samaritans with their “sleeves rolled [up]”;[21] healthcare workers are so in an eminent way.[22]
However, Pope Bergoglio had his own way of referring to the figure of the Samaritan and his story.[23] In an article on Pope Francis’ relationship with the Word of God, Béatrice Oiry writes: “In Fratelli tutti (FT), the pope comments on the parable of the Good Samaritan. He describes the scene at length, somewhat in the manner of a spiritual exercise. He evokes the important men who continue on their way upon seeing the wounded man, and then the Samaritan who stops and approaches him. Then, suddenly, the pope interrupts his commentary and addresses the reader: ‘Which of these persons do you identify with? […] Which of these characters do you resemble? […] We have become accustomed to looking the other way, passing by, ignoring situations until they affect us directly’ (FT 64). At that point, he bypasses exegetical developments. The parable speaks for itself. The pope’s commentary simply aims to shock us, to awaken us, so that the parable may accomplish its work of truth in each of us. He, in a certain sense, brings out the urgency and radical nature of Christ’s call.”[24]
Herein lies Bergoglio’s distinctive trait: in his view, the narrative and its characters never cease to confront readers and listeners with a choice. In his enarratio, Francis accelerates the dynamics of the biblical stories, dynamics that put those who read or hear them on the spot, beginning with the story of the Good Samaritan. “In the face of so much pain and suffering, our only course is to imitate the Good Samaritan. Any other decision would make us either one of the robbers or one of those who walked by without showing compassion for the sufferings of the man on the roadside.”[25] The figure of the Good Samaritan, born of Jesus’ imagination, is thus the one that nourishes the imagination of the listener and inspires the choice of a different path. Through the foreign traveler, Jesus “asks us not to decide who is close enough to be our neighbor, but rather that we ourselves become neighbors to all.”[26]
Weaving, Unraveling and Weaving Again
One final metaphor, or rather pair of metaphors, deserves our attention. These are the metaphor of the text as a “fabric” and the metaphor of the Church as a “tent” to be expanded. The first is not of biblical origin; it has its roots in Greek and Latin literature[27] (it is found, however, in an embryonic form, among the Church Fathers).[28] The second has a strictly biblical foundation, namely a verse from Isaiah: “Enlarge the site of your tent” (Isa 54:2).
The metaphor of the fabric is the central theme of Pope Francis’ Message for the 54th World Day of Social Communications (January 24, 2020).[29] It is developed in various ways, yet always effectively, throughout a meditation on the role of storytelling in human life and in the life of the Church.[30] The pope called for “a narrative that can regard our world and its happenings with a tender gaze. A narrative that can tell us that we are part of a living and interconnected tapestry. A narrative that can reveal the interweaving of the threads which connect us to one another” (Introduction). Our species is a weaver, Francis continues: “We weave not only clothing, but also stories: indeed, the human capacity to “weave” (Latin texere) gives us not only the word textile but also text” (no. 1).
Echoing Psalm 139:13-15 (“My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth” [v. 15]), Francis adds: “We are not born complete, but need to be constantly ‘woven,’ ‘knitted together.’ Life is given to us as an invitation to continue to weave the ‘wonderful’ mystery that we are” (no. 3).[31] To this existential reality – encompassing gestation, birth and growth – are added, in the same vein, revelation and salvation: “God has become personally woven into our humanity, and so has given us a new way of weaving our stories” (no. 4).
Francis thus weaves the metaphor from paragraph to paragraph, thereby revealing the feminine side of his being. In her work The God of Women, the Milanese psychoanalyst Luisa Muraro highlights the theological dimension of the feminine skill that is the art of weaving, unweaving and weaving anew.[32] The text of Exod 35:25-26 recalls the skilled women who spin flax, dyed wool, and goat hair for the tabernacle; for its part, the poem in Prov 31:13-19 praises the enterprising woman who “seeks wool and flax,” reaches for the distaff, and holds the spindle with her fingers. There is something of this feminine art in Francis’ invitation to weave “the tapestry of our days with mercy” (no. 5).
Pope Francis also uses another “textile” metaphor: that of the tent.[33] As already mentioned, this metaphor derives from a verse in the Book of Isaiah, the full text of which is as follows: “Enlarge the site of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; do not hold back; lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes” (Isa 54:2).[34] It is, in fact, a matter of welcoming, upon returning from exile, an unexpected number of sons and daughters.
During the audience on Wednesday, October 23, 2019, Francis stated: “The nature of the Church appears from the Book of the Acts; she is not a fortress but a tent able to enlarge her space (cf. Isa 54:2) and give access to all.”[35] This image of the Church as a tent has become a hallmark of the working document of the last Synod (October 28, 2023), where it appears 16 times. The tent is a dwelling “on the move” and lends itself surprisingly well to the symbolism of the Church on the move, that is, the synodal Church.
There is a strong temptation to “unite” the two metaphors just mentioned, something Pope Francis did not do: is the biblical text, as a “weaving,” perhaps a “tent that expands”? Should the “magisterium of metaphors” that characterized Pope Francis’ ministry perhaps be extended through a metaphorical sensus fidei, that is, through metaphorical creativity on the part of the people of God? Yes, of course, and the conclusion of this essay will constitute a small exercise in that direction.
When the author of the Prologue to the Fourth Gospel announces that the Logos “became flesh and lived among us” (eskēnōsen en hēmin, John 1:14), he echoes and brings to life the words of Sirach concerning Wisdom: “The Creator of all things gave me a command, and my Creator chose the place for my tent (skēnēn). He said, ‘Make your dwelling (kataskēnōson) in Jacob, and in Israel receive your inheritance’” (Sir 24:8). We do not have the Hebrew text of Sir 24:8, but the Greek variations on the root skēn- seem to recall the Hebrew verb šākan, and thus the divine dwelling of the šekînâ. The interplay of references in this case is bilingual, and thus all the more unique. The expression of the new, that is, the dwelling of the Word in the “we” of humanity, has thus infiltrated the ancient expression, so as to “enlarge its space” (here too there is an echo of Isa 54:2: “Enlarge the site of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations [miškan] be stretched out.”) The fortune of the Scriptures in their reuse is that of a fabric that extends, of a tent that expands.[36]
At the beginning of this essay, we spoke of the stumbling block represented by Pope Francis’ ministry. The metaphors he created or reimagined over the course of his 12-year pontificate serve as messengers of God’s word. They are that Word in a pastoral form, in a discourse addressed to all. When they were first presented, they surprised Christians, and they will continue to do so, no matter where they come from. They are a living testament of the poet-pope. They will continue to produce their effect, at once wounding and healing. They will become a tent for everyone in the Church of God, which is itself a tent that is expanding.
Reproduced with permission by La Civilta Cattolica.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.32009/22072446.0626.5
[1]. Cf. the “literary biography” of Jorge Mario Bergoglio by A. Spadaro, “La vita senza poesia non funziona”, in Pope Francis, Viva la poesia!, Milan, Ares, 2025, 9-47. In the same volume, cf. also A. Spadaro, “J. M. Bergoglio, il ‘maestrillo’ creativo. Intervista all’alunno Jorge Milia”, 201-220. The episode of the invitation extended to the writer Jorge Luis Borges by the young Bergoglio, when he was teaching at the Colegio de la Inmaculada Concepción in Santa Fe, has been recounted on several occasions; see in particular the pages by A. Ivereigh, The Great Reformer: Francis and the Making of a Radical Pope, New York, Henry Holt and Company, 2014, 80-82. Bergoglio expressed his belief in the role of literature in personal lives in a unique way in his Letter on the Role of Literature in Education, published on July 17, 2024: cf. Pope Francis – W. Marx, Louée soit la lecture, Paris, Équateur, 2024.
[2]. Cf. J. W. Martens, “Pope Francis’ focus on the Bible and mercy—and why so many Catholics are uncomfortable with it”, in America Magazine, January 5, 2024 (online edition). Cf. also the same author, “Pope Francis’ Biblical Roots”, in The B.C. Catholic, April 23, 2025.
[3]. M. D. Kiel, Reading the Bible in the Age of Francis, Eugene, OR, Cascade Books, 2019, 15.
[4]. It is, however, the first criterion to appear in the life of the young Ignatius (cf. Autobiography, nos. 7-8).
[5]. Francis, Homily at Mass on Sunday January 26, 2025 (Sunday of the Word of God).
[6]. Cf. S. Falasca, “‘Quello che avrei detto al concistoro’. Intervista con il cardinale Jorge Mario Bergoglio, arcivescovo di Buenos Aires”, in 30 Giorni 25 (2007) 11; 18-21.
[7]. Cf. J.-P. Sonnet, “Story and Metaphor in ‘Querida Amazonia’”, in Civ. Catt. English Edition July 2020, https://www.laciviltacattolica.com/story-and-metaphor-in-querida-amazonia/. “Poetry is full of metaphors,” explained Bergoglio. “Understanding metaphors helps to make thought agile, intuitive, flexible and acute” and to counter the mediocrity of so much modern discourse that is self-referential and destructive (Francis, “Discorso alla comunità de ‘La Civiltà Cattolica’”, in Civ. Catt. 2017 I 447).
[8]. Cf. Francis, General Audience, June 10, 2020. Cf. also “Struggle with God”, in Omelie del mattino nella Cappella della Domus Sanctae Marthae, vol. 7, Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 23-27 (homily of January 12, 2016).
[9]. Among the numerous references and allusions, cf. Exod 3:10; 3:17; 12:34-42; 13:3-17; Deut 5:6; 1 Sam 12:6; Isa 51:10-11; Mic 6:4; Ps 114:1; Acts 7:36-40.
[10]. Francis, “God of Surprises”, in Id., Omelie del mattino nella Cappella della Domus Sanctae Marthae, vol. 9, Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 205 ff. (homily of May 8, 2017): “The Spirit is the gift of God, of this God, our Father, who always surprises us: the God of surprises […]. Because he is a living God, a God who abides in us, a God who moves our heart, a God who is in the Church and walks with us; and he always surprises us on this path […]. Just as he had the creativity to create the world, so he has the creativity to create new things every day.”
[11]. This corresponds to the consolation without any preceding cause of which Ignatius of Loyola speaks: “For it is the prerogative of the Creator alone to enter the soul, depart from it, and cause a motion in it which draws the whole person into love of His Divine Majesty” (Spiritual Exercises, no. 330).
[12]. Cf. J.-P. Sonnet, “Inscrire le nouveau dans l’ancien. Exégèse intra-biblique et herméneutique de l’innovation”, in Nouvelle Revue Théologique 128 (2006) 3-17.
[13]. Cf. in particular P. C. Phan, “Why Pope Francis sees the Good Samaritan as the Parable for our Times”, in America Magazine, February 9, 2023 (online edition).
[14]. Cf. Augustine of Hippo, Discourse 171, no. 2 (www.augustinus.it/italiano/discorsi/discorso_222_testo.htm).
[15]. It is significant that this interpretation was taken up by Pope Leo XIV: “[Jesus] is the Good Samaritan who came to heal our wounds and to pour out upon us the balm of his love and mercy; Saint Augustine tells us that, as the Good Samaritan who came to our aid, Jesus wanted to be known as our neighbor. Indeed, the Lord Jesus Christ makes us realize that he is the one who cared for the half-dead man beaten by robbers and left on the side of the road (De Doctrina Christiana, I, 30.33). (Homily at the Pontifical Parish of St. Thomas of Villanova [Castel Gandolfo], July 13, 2025).
[16]. Paul VI, Address on the occasion of the final public session of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council (December 7, 1965).
[17]. Cf. Aparecida Document. Fifth General Conference of the Latin American and Caribbean Bishops. Disciples and Missionaries of Jesus Christ, That We May Have Life in Him: “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (Jn 14:6), no. 26.
[18]. G. Gutiérrez, on the occasion of the presentation, on February 25, 2014, of Cardinal G. L. Müller’s book, Povera per i poveri. La missione della Chiesa, Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2014.
[19]. Cf. Francis, Address to the participants in the International Congress on Pastoral Care in Large Cities, November 27, 2014.
[20]. Ibid., Address to the members of the Board of Directors of the ‘Populorum Progressio’ Foundation, September 16, 2022.
[21]. Ibid., Address to the participants in the General Chapter of the Little Missionary Sisters of Charity (Opera Don Orione), May 25, 2023.
[22]. Referring to the Good Samaritan who poured oil on the wounded man’s wounds, Francis comments: “We lack the willingness to touch suffering, and touching it leads us to heroism. I am thinking of the doctors and nurses who faced suffering during the pandemic and chose to stay with the sick” (Rai3 broadcast, February 6, 2020).
[23]. We might say that the metaphor of the Church as a “field hospital,” so dear to Pope Francis, derives from that of the Good Samaritan who tends to the wounds of the injured man (cf. Luke 10:34) right where he finds him, by the side of the road, before taking him to a safe place. To this source are added other biblical stories, such as the accounts in which Jesus, approached by a crowd of the sick, heals them on the spot (cf. Mark 1:32-34; Luke 4:40); similarly, the early Christian community becomes a place that welcomes the sick of every kind (cf. Acts 5:12-16). The priority of healing people “on the spot” takes precedence over any other program.
[24]. Cf. interview with Béatrice Oiry in S. Bada Silas, “De ‘Verbum Domini’ au dimanche de la Parole de Dieu,” in Transversalités 159 (2021), 155.
[25]. Pope Francis, Encyclical Fratelli Tutti, no. 67.
[26]. Ibid., no. 80.
[27]. The earliest attestation of the weaving metaphor as a reference to text or plot dates back to the figures of Helen and Penelope in the Iliad and the Odyssey. The weaving metaphor is thus a meta-literary device of epic composition itself. This is the case with Helen, who weaves a depiction of the Trojan War (Homer, Iliad, III, 125-128): “On one side of the walls, the war; on the other, its depiction on the fabric. Except that the weaver is also its cause, she who objectively instigated the conflict. Men wage war; Helen weaves it in purple” (I. Papadopoulou-Belmehdi, Le chant de Pénélope: Poétique du tissage féminin dans l’Odyssée, Paris, Belin, 1994, 165). For her part, Penelope, who hopes for Ulysses’ return, unravels at night what she weaves by day to delay her marriage to one of the suitors (Homer, Odyssey, II, 121-122; 134-139). Papadopoulou-Belmehdi thus speaks of “the weaving of the epic material” (ibid., 167). In Quintilian (1st century AD), in Institutio oratoria IX, 4.3–23, the word textus (“fabric, cloth”) is explicitly used as a metaphor for textual composition, linking the choice of words to a woven structure.
[28]. Cf. note 30 below on Hippolytus of Rome (c. 170-235), though without direct references to the “text” itself. In his exegesis of the Psalms, Hilary of Poitiers (c. 310-367) uses images of unity and texture (contextus), potentially linked to the metaphor of “weaving” or “fabric.”
[29]. Cf. Francis, Message for the 54th World Day of Social Communications: “That you may tell your children and grandchildren” (Exod 10:2). Life Becomes History, January 24, 2020.
[30]. See the surprising Christological development of this metaphor by Hippolytus of Rome: “For indeed the Word, who is without flesh, clothed himself in the holy flesh of the holy Virgin, just as a bridegroom puts on a garment, and wove it to completion through the passion of the cross so as to save the human race that was perishing, mingling the corruptible with the incorruptible and the weak with the strong. The Lord’s loom, then, is the passion on the cross, while the warp upon it is the power of the Holy Spirit, and the weft woven into it by the Spirit is the holy flesh; the thread is the grace firmly bound by the love of Christ, who, uniting both, makes them one, while the shuttle of the loom is the Word; the weavers are the patriarchs and prophets who weave the beautiful robe reaching down to the feet and the perfect tunic of Christ: through them, the Word reveals himself as a shuttle that weaves, through them, precisely what the Father wills” (Hippolytus of Rome [2nd–3rd century], Cristo e l’Anticristo, no. 4, Bologna, Edizioni Studio Domenicano, 2021, 37-39; M. Aubineau, “La tunique sans couture du Christ, exégèse patristique de Jn 19, 23-24”, in Recherches patristiques. Enquêtes sur des manuscrits, textes inédits. Études, Amsterdam, Hakkert, 1974, 363. Cf. B. Bevc, “Noi umani, intessuti di storie. Lògos e incarnazione, la lezione di Ippolito”, in L’Osservatore Romano, June 23, 2020, 5.
[31]. To the psalm cited by Pope Francis, we can add the references to weaving and the tent in Hezekiah’s song in Isaiah 38:12.
[32]. Cf. L. Muraro, Il Dio delle donne, Turin, Marietti1820, 2020. In an article titled “Ces femmes qu’on dit mystiques. Des chrétiennes en liberté”, in Études, no. 4232, November 2016, 66, François Marxer makes an interesting observation on this point, stating that Luisa Muraro “draws on this feminine savoir-faire: unraveling a knitted piece is essential when the fabric is full of holes (just as language is pierced by the unspeakable)” (note 6).
[33]. Tents in biblical times were made of animal skins and goat-hair fabric (cf. Ex 26:7; 36:14-18; Song 1:5). Paul, the future apostle, was a tentmaker in Tarsus; he likely worked with goat hair that had been woven into cloth (cf. Acts 18:3).
[34]. Cf. the tent already mentioned in Isaiah 38:12: “like a shepherd’s tent.”
[35]. Pope Francis, General Audience, October 23, 2019.
[36]. The original version of this article was published in French in a Brazilian journal: J.-P. Sonnet, “Le magistère des métaphores. Le Pape François et la Parole de Dieu”, in Perspectiva TeolÓgica 58 (2026/1), 1-14.
