E non impareranno più la guerra | 4 Marzo 2022 |

𝘜𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘢, 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘥𝘪 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘢̀. 𝘚𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘴𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘶𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘦 𝘴𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪 𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘪 𝘥𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦.

𝘐𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘶𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘦: 𝘥𝘢𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰, 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪. 𝘉𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘰 𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘪 𝘥𝘪 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢, 𝘮𝘢 𝘪 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘻𝘻𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘰  𝘨𝘭𝘪 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘦. 𝘓𝘶𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘣𝘦 “𝘭'𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦”; 𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘰, 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘢, 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘢 𝘶𝘯 𝘯𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘢. 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶 𝘶𝘯 𝘒𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘯𝘪𝘬𝘰𝘷 𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘰. 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢̀ 𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘰 𝘩𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰.

𝘈 𝘴𝘶𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢, 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪 𝘥𝘪 𝘣𝘭𝘶 𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪 𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰, 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘢: 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰, 𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪; 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢̀ , 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘪 𝘦̀ 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘦𝘵𝘢̀ 𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘶̀ 𝘥𝘪 𝘭𝘪 𝘥𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘪 𝘩𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘰. 𝘓𝘦𝘪 𝘦̀ 𝘭𝘢 “𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢”.

𝘓𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘤𝘩e 𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘯 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘰, 𝘦 𝘭𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪 𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘶𝘪, 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘪̀ 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘰.

𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘻𝘻𝘪 𝘴𝘪 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘶̀ 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘭'𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭'𝘌𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘢, 𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘪 𝘱𝘪𝘶̀ 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘰,  𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘦̀ 𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰, 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰 𝘷𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦.

𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘭 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘧𝘢, 𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘢 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘻𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦; 𝘦𝘥 𝘦̀ 𝘭𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘢, 𝘭𝘢 “𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢”, 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘢𝘭 “𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘰” 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘢: “𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢, 𝘵𝘶𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘰 𝘦̀ 𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘰, 𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦.” 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘦̀ 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘥𝘪 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘳𝘢 𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰 𝘭'𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝘐𝘯 𝘶𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘪 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘪 𝘢𝘷𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘵𝘪 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘣, 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘰, 𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪, 𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪. 𝘌 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪 𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘪... 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘪 𝘧𝘢. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘭'𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘢̀ 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘦̀ 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘩𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘭'𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘭'𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘩𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘰 𝘭'𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘰.

𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢  𝘥𝘰𝘷𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘰, 𝘭'𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘰 𝘥𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘪 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘭'𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?

“𝑬𝒈𝒍𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒂̀ 𝒈𝒊𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒊 𝒑𝒐𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊, 𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝒇𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊 𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒆. 𝑫𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐 𝒗𝒐̀𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒊, 𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒓𝒐̀𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒆; 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒛𝒆𝒓𝒂̀ 𝒑𝒊𝒖̀ 𝒍𝒂 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝒍’𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒊𝒖̀ 𝒍𝒂 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂.” (𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒂 4:3)

Marco