SUNDAY, SIXTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
Gn 18: 1-10 Ps 15: 2-5 Col 1: 24-28 Lk 10: 38-42
LIFT YOUR EYES
The first reading begins with Abraham at the entrance of his tent during the heat of the day – a detail rich with symbolic meaning. The tent’s entrance represents the place where the human and the divine meet, while the scorching midday sun suggests both physical exhaustion and spiritual dryness. Yet, instead of withdrawing into the comfort of shade, Abraham “lifts his eyes” and notices three mysterious figures standing nearby. Abraham does not hesitate; he runs to greet them. His eagerness is matched by profound humility as he bows to the ground, recognizing the sacred dignity of his visitors. He then offers them water to wash their feet, rest beneath the tree, and a lavish meal prepared with the finest flour and a tender calf. His hospitality reflects a heart attuned to the presence of the divine in the ordinary. The early Church Fathers saw in these three visitors a foreshadowing of the Trinity. In a more contemporary sense, this scene echoes Christ’s words in the Gospel of Matthew: “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” Abraham’s reward – the promise of a son in his old age – demonstrates that divine hospitality bears fruit beyond human expectation. When we welcome the stranger, we may unknowingly entertain angels, or even God Himself. The challenge for us today is whether we possess Abraham’s attentiveness to the “strangers” in our midst especially those on the margins of society. In a culture that prioritizes efficiency and productivity over presence and receptivity, can we recover the sacred patience to pause, to see, and to welcome? True charity is not merely about providing physical comfort but about recognizing and honouring the divine image in every person we encounter.
In the second reading, Paul declares: “I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions.” This does not mean that Christ’s sacrifice was insufficient; rather, Christ’s redemptive work is perfect and complete. Yet the Church is called to participate in His suffering, extending its redemptive power through time and space. Even in imprisonment, Paul does not lament his fate but sees his pain as a means of communion with Christ. This passage invites us to reconsider our own sufferings. Do we resent them, or can we, like Paul, perceive them as participation in Christ’s redemptive work? The Christian vocation does not promise exemption from suffering but offers a way to sanctify it. When we unite our pains to Christ’s Passion, they become more than burdens; they become altars where God is encountered in profound intimacy.
The Gospel of Luke presents two sisters with different approaches to divine encounter. Martha is consumed with preparations, her hands busy with service, while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, absorbed in His words. Jesus does not condemn Martha’s labour – Abraham, too, worked diligently to prepare a meal for his guests. Rather, He observes that she is “anxious.” The Greek word merimnaō suggests a heart divided, pulled in multiple directions. Mary, in contrast, has chosen the “better part”; love must first be received before it can be poured out in service. Before we can serve God, we must allow Him to serve us, to nourish us with His presence. Mary’s posture at Jesus’ feet reveals that the greatest act of charity is sometimes silence, listening, and receptivity. In our busy lives, we often prioritize ‘doing for God’ over ‘being with God’. Yet, without moments of stillness, our service risks becoming frantic and joyless. How might our days change if we carved out even ten minutes of silent prayer – a “Mary moment” amidst our “Martha tasks”? Contemplation is not an escape from responsibility but the soul’s necessary orientation toward its Source. Only when we have first sat at the feet of Christ can we rise to serve with hearts full of His peace.
Rublev’s famous icon of the Trinity depicts the three angels at Abraham’s table with an open space at the front; this is an invitation for the viewer to complete the circle. In the Eucharist, we find the most tangible manifestation of this invitation. Here, God hosts us at His own table, offering not just bread and wine but His very self. As we receive Him, we are sent forth to become living icons of His love until all the world becomes a place of divine encounter.
Response: O Lord, who may abide in your tent?
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