Twenty-Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I just read two amusing stories. A little girl, attending a wedding, whispered to her mother, “Mommy, why is the bride dressed in white?'' The mother replied, “Because white is the color of happiness and today is the happiest day of her life.” The child paused and then asked: “So why is the groom wearing black?”

The other quick story is about a boy who asked, "Grandpa, make a sound like a frog." Grandpa answered, "OK but why?" The boy said, "Because I heard mommy and daddy say as soon as you croak, we're going to Disney World." Yes: be careful what you say around kids.

The word of God carries us back to the 6th century before Jesus (the 500s). Cyrus II, a King of Persia (aka Iran today), conquered Babylonia and set the Jews free, so they could return to their homeland to rebuild their temple and Jerusalem. The author proclaims that there is no God comparable to the God of Israel. He works even through an unlikely king like Cyrus to achieve his purpose in the history of our salvation. 

The author may be asking us: Do we recognize the presence of God not only in likely people and places but also in the least likely people and the least likely places?  The Spirit of God breathes wherever it wills.

Paul in his letter to the Christian community at Thessalonica in Greece prays that God will continue to grace that community because of their fidelity to the gospel way of life. The living Christ lives and breathes in the community by the power of the Spirit and strengthens them in their faith, hope and love. 

Paul's prayer for the community is ours: that the living Christ grace us so that we may be ever faithful to the gospel way of life.

In the Gospel according to Matthew, the Jews are political prisoners again—this time to the Romans. They had to pay taxes to their oppressors and even worse, they had to use foreign coinage which carried the image of the reigning Roman emperor and ascribed divine status to him—blasphemy for the Jews. 

The opponents of Jesus pose a tricky question meant to discredit Jesus: should they pay the tax or not? If Jesus says, “yes, pay the tax,” he'll anger his Jewish followers; if he says, “no, don't pay,” he'll be considered a rebel and liable to death for treason. But Jesus recognizes his opponents as hypocrites. And so Jesus answers in a carefully nuanced fashion: If you benefit from Caesar, you ought to pay for those benefits. However, you ought to give to God what is his by right. The religious leaders knew what Jesus meant: they were to give themselves completely to God since they were made in God's image.  We are creatures born to be in relationship with our creator forever.

An Asian Indian proverb says that every one of us is like a house with four rooms – a physical room, a mental room, an emotional room, and a spiritual room. There’s even an interesting memoir titled “A House with Four Rooms.” One room is a fully-equipped kitchen. Another room is a library with the best books. A third room is a studio for painting, pottery, sculpting and carpentry. The fourth room is a high-tech room.

Now imagine this scenerio. We might become so interested in one of the rooms that it becomes the only room we live in: so immersed in cooking that we never discover the “great books”; so plugged into high-tech toys that we never sit down to enjoy a dinner; or so engrossed in our work that we don’t really connect with the people closest to us.

Some people tend to live most of the time in one room. But unless we go into every room every day, even if it's only to air it out, we are incomplete, not fully alive.

God asks us to throw open every window and door in this so-called “house that is our life” to allow God’s presence to “air out” our physical, mental, emotional and spiritual rooms. We're not fully alive until the presence of God permeates every dimension of our lives.

In other words, practice the presence of God. The great masters of Christian spirituality say that this practice is an art. And where better to develop this practice than in the liturgy. 

Yes, the living Christ is present as we gather together in his name. He dwells in each one of us, initially through the waters of Baptism and now through a life of discipleship. Moreover, we are all connected to one another through the mystical body of Christ.   A warm welcome expresses that inter-connectedness when we gather.

The living Christ invites us to worship our heavenly Father in the songs we sing, the prayers we pray and the sacrament we celebrate. 

We experience Christ’s presence together in the word of God. Yes, we hear the voice of the reader but it is Christ who is speaking to us. And so, we ought to be listening with open ears and open hearts; listening attentively because Christ has a word, perhaps a single word, that is meant for each of us, a word that hits home.

Foremost, Christ reveals his presence to us sacramentally in his body and blood. Our Catholic tradition teaches us that the bread and wine truly become the reality of the living Christ. How can this be? It is a mystery of our faith. And then Christ offers himself to us as spiritual nourishment in communion: a personal and yet a communal moment in which we are united with Christ through his mystical body with all who share this sacred meal worldwide. Communion links us to the mystical body of Christ dwelling within the church universal.  This liturgy is a world-wide “community of disciples” experience. 

If we can experience the presence of the living Christ as we gather together to worship our heavenly Father, as we listen attentively to the word of God, and as we partake of Christ's body and blood in a communion which unites us to the mystical body of Christ, then we will be able to practice the presence of God more easily in the various imaginary “rooms” of our life.

Finally, how often do we hear, “how was your day?” I conclude with a story about two parents tucking their children into bed at night and asking that question differently,  “where did you meet God today?” And the children told their parents, one by one: a teacher helped me; I held the door for someone; I saw a garden with lots of flowers in it. And the parents told them where they met God too. The stuff of that day became the substance of that family’s prayer.

May we be ever more open to the presence of God in the imaginary “rooms of the house” we call our life, and may God's presence permeate every dimension of our lives.