The Sixteenth Sunday
in Ordinary Time (C)
Dear brothers and sisters,
We might be tempted this morning to focus
our attention on the timing of the first reading from the Book of Genesis. We
are told it occurred “while the day was growing hot” and we certainly know
something of that in these recent days (Genesis 18:1). If we were, however, to
focus our attention on this aspect of the reading, we would miss something much
more important and something much more curious.
It was at this time of day that the
Patriarch Abraham saw “three men standing nearby” the entrance to his tent (Genesis 18:2). We are next told how Abraham interacted with these three unnamed men: “When
he saw them, he ran from the entrance to the tent to greet them; and bowing to
the ground, he said: ‘Sir, if I may ask this favor, please do not go on past
your servant’” (Genesis 18:2-3). Now, if you were listening closely you will
have noticed something strange, something you might attribute either to an
error on my part or on the part of the translator; in both guesses, though, you
would be incorrect.
Abraham sees three men, in the plural. He
goes to greet “them,” again in the plural. Yet when he addresses the three men
he greets them, saying, “Sir,” in the singular. Why? Surely a man such as Abraham
knows the proper rules governing the use of grammar. What is going on here?
Saint Ambrose of Milan, the great teacher
and spiritual father of Saint Augustine, rightly says that
Abraham, who was
glad to receive strangers, faithful to God and tireless in his service and
prompt in fulfilling his duty, saw the Trinity typified. He added religious
devotion to hospitality, for although he beheld three, he adored one, and,
while keeping a distinction of the persons, yet he called one Lord, thus giving
honor to the three but signifying one power. For not knowledge but grace spoke
in him.[1]
In those three men standing nearby,
Abraham beheld the Most Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; God had
visited the Patriarch and Abraham asked the Lord to stay with him. When the
Lord draws near to us, what is our response? Do we stop whatever we are doing
and ask him to stay with us, offering to him whatever hospitality we may, or do
we ask him to come again another time because his visit is perhaps inconvenient?
Because Abraham was a man of justice, he
bowed himself to the ground in the presence of God; he gave to God the honor
that is due to him (cf. Genesis 18:19; 18:2). We can be sure that when Abraham
bowed down before God, his exterior act reflected his interior devotion. Is it
the same with us? Does our outward composure reflect the composure of our
hearts, or do we simply go through the motions of piety? When we bend the knee
before God, are we conscious of what we do? When we bow from the waist at the
mention of the Incarnation during the Creed, are we conscious of the One before
whom we bow?
Writing in 1939, Romano Guardini lamented
what he perceived as a lack of genuine piety. He said,
Many churchgoers
simply don’t seem to know where they are or what it is all about. A man’s
presence in church does not mean merely that his body is there rather than
elsewhere. His body is the equivalent of himself, and being present is a
vital act. There are people who can walk into a room, sit down, and little more
seems to have happened than that a chair has been occupied. Someone else can come
in, and though he neither says nor does anything further, his presence is like
a power. There are works of art in which this quiet power of presence is very
strong; we have only to think of those medieval paintings which portray numbers
of saints seated next to each other. They do nothing; hardly a gesture or word
is exchanged, yet everything is vitally alive with their presence. To be present,
then, is more than to sit or kneel in place. It is an act of the spirit and
expresses itself in one’s whole being.[2]
These eighty years later, can we say that
much has changed?
The act of bowing down before another,
whether of bending the knee or of bowing the head – is an act of humble
submission to another. It is an outward sign of the inner reality that I am not
in charge of my own life and that I am not the center of the world, contrary to
what our culture repeatedly tells us. We do not like to bow before others, to place
ourselves at the service of others. “But to bow low before God can never be
unmodern, because it corresponds to the truth of our being,” that we are only
creatures. “And if modern man has forgotten this truth, then it is all the more
incumbent on Christians in the modern world to rediscover it and teach it to
our fellowmen.”[3] Indeed,
we must remind ourselves and others that “the man who wants to come close to
God must be able to look upon him – that is essential. But he must likewise
learn to bend, for God has bent himself down.”[4]
When Abraham saw the Lord, he did not run
up to him to embrace him; he bowed low before him. So must it be with us. We
see this in the example of Mary, who “sat beside the Lord at his feet listening
to him speak” (Luke 10:39). She knew the importance of bowing before God; she showed
the disposition of her heart with the expression of her body. While Martha was busy
with the important details of hospitality, Mary chose that which will not pass
away.
When he reflected on this passage, Saint
Augustine pondered what Mary was doing at the Lord’s feet. “What was Mary
enjoying while she was listening? What was she eating? What was she drinking?
Do you know,” he asks. He says:
Let’s ask the Lord,
who keeps such a splendid table for his own people, let’s ask him. ‘Blessed,’
he says, ‘are those who are hungry and thirsty for justice, because they shall
be satisfied’ (Matthew 5:6). It was from this wellspring, from this storehouse
of justice, that Mary, seated at the Lord’s feet, was in her hunger receiving some
crumbs. You see, the Lord was giving her then as much as she was able to take…
What was Mary enjoying? What was she eating? I’m persistent on this point,
because I’m enjoying it too. I will venture to say that she was eating the one
she was listening to. I mean, if she was eating truth, didn’t he say himself, ‘I
am the truth” (John 14:6)? What more can I say? He was being eaten, because he
was Bread. ‘I,’ he said, ‘am the bread who came down from heaven’ (John 6:41). This
is the bread which nourishes and never diminishes.
Having bowed down before him and having
placed herself at the Lord’s feet, Mary learned that “without love, even the most important activities lose their
value and give no joy. Without a profound meaning, all our activities are
reduced to sterile and unorganized activism. And who, if not Jesus Christ,
gives us Love and Truth?”[5]
In these
remaining days of summer, let us ask the Lord Jesus to open our hearts to him,
to teach us to bow low before him, and to stay at his feet. May he perfect us
in himself so that we will think the truth in our hearts and not slander with
our tongues (cf. Psalm 15:3). May he make us, like Abraham, men and women of
justice, who give him the honor and the worship that is his due, with our
gestures and hearts united. Bowing low before him in this life, may he raise
our eyes to see his Face in the life to come. Amen.
[1] Saint Ambrose of Milan, On His
Brother, Satyrus, 2.96.
[2] Romano Guardini Meditations Before
Mass, (Manchester, New Hampshire: Sophia Institute Press, 1993), 28.
[3] Joseph Ratzinger, The Spirit of
the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2000), 206.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Pope Benedict XVI, Angelus Address,
18 July 2010.
