Jesus, Model of Humility

 

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary (COVID-19) Time 2020 

“…repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God."

 

The Pharisees went off and plotted how they might entrap Jesus in speech.  They sent their disciples to him, with the Herodians, saying, "Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth.  And you are not concerned with anyone's opinion, for you do not regard a person's status.   Tell us, then, what is your opinion: Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?"

Knowing their malice, Jesus said, "Why are you testing me, you hypocrites? Show me the coin that pays the census tax."  Then they handed him the Roman coin. He said to them, "Whose image is this and whose inscription?"  They replied, "Caesar's."  At that he said to them, "Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God."

 

This weekend’s Gospel reading lent itself to many reflections, homilies, and stories about our dual citizenship.  We are citizens of the lands of our births and citizens of the Kingdom of God. It seemed very appropriate to hear these words while at Mass during a pandemic.  Our government has limited the number of people in our churches, mandated the wearing of masks, recommended restricting people from expressing their praise in song, encouraged “social distancing” and so much more, all to prevent the spread of this novel virus.  Our Church leaders, looking out for the safety and well-being of her members, have adopted the government’s recommendations and have altered the way in which we worship.  

 

Many parishes in my diocese, including my parish, have moved the reception of holy communion by the faithful to the end of Mass, after the final blessing.  At my parish, communicants approach a plexiglass window situated in the back of the church, near the front entrance.   At the communion station, there is a bowl of water, hand sanitizers, towels, and other items to sanitize Father’s hands to avoid spreading the germs.  Father stands behind the barrier, masked, and the faithful are directed pew by pew to approach the communion station.  Once they are at the station, they place their hands below an opened slot to receive our Lord.  Once communion has been received, they turn and immediately walk out of the church.  We have become so focused on the Covid-19 virus that we have fixed our eyes and practices on avoiding contact with others, and ensuring that a sterile environment is maintained.  We are repaying to Caesar what belongs to Caesar.  We are following all of the recommended actions, with what I'd like to believe is the pure and holy intention of keeping our brothers and sisters safe.  

 

Today, I ponder whether or not we are giving “to God what belongs to God.”  We cannot sing.  We cannot approach the sanctuary to receive our Lord, but rather instructed to receive Him near the exit of the church.  We cannot be still and meditate or offer prayers of thanksgiving after the most intimate of all moments with our Lord, after receiving Him in the Eucharist.  We cannot celebrate the beauty of the Liturgy in the way that it is prescribed.  

 

Maybe this all serves a purpose.  Perhaps this has happened to help me be more appreciative of the gift of the Liturgy.  Maybe this has happened strengthen my inconsistent faith and to help me focus on the reality that Christ truly is present in the Eucharist at every Mass, in every tabernacle, in every church, regardless of how the Mass is celebrated.  Perhaps this reminder serves to show me that things that I have taken for granted for in the past, must be done with greater fervor and reverence in the future.  I know that it has reminded me that I was created for koinonia, the true nature of fellowship, prayer, and service in the church.  I miss community.  

 

Today after Mass, I had an experience that caused me great distress.  I was among the last to leave the Church building.  I exited the building, past the COVID-19 communion station, down the front steps of the church and into the parking lot.  I was engaged in conversation with another musician, laughing and celebrating life as we went forth from the church to begin another week of life.   As we were walking towards our cars in the parking lot, I happened to look down and stopped dead in my tracks.  There on the parking lot asphalt was a host.  I looked at my friend, and we both just looked at the host.  Our conversation abruptly ended, and I said, “I have to believe that this host is consecrated.” As I bent down to pick it up off of the ground, my partner in ministry said, “you should consume it.”  I knew that to be true.  I was just in disbelief.  How could HE have ended up here?  How was HE taken out of the Church without being consumed?  How could someone knowingly, or even unknowingly leave Jesus, present in the Eucharist, on the ground?  Our conversation came to an end.  I said a silent prayer, consumed the host, and just pondered this moment.  

I couldn’t help but to think, “are our eyes so fixed on doing all of the right things to eliminate or reduce the spread of germs, that we are not focused on what matters most?”  Are we not fixing our eyes on the most central element of our Catholic faith?  Do our actions as a church witness to what the Eucharist is, who the Eucharist is, and whose we are in the Eucharist?  Do my actions witness to the same?  It made me think of the verse from Hebrews, “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”  It made me think that my goal in this life isn’t to satisfy Cesar, it is to live eternally with God. My. marching orders: Keep my eyes fixed on Jesus and not on this world.  I’ve got some work that must be done.