Reflection for July 20, 2025

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Genesis 18:1-10a | Psalm 15:2-3, 3-4, 5 | Colossians 1:24-28 | Luke 10:38-42

Do you recognize and welcome God’s presence in your daily life? The readings for the Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time invite us into deeper awareness—urging us to notice where God is moving and to respond with trust, attentiveness, and a heart ready to serve. Presence is not just about seeing—it’s about receiving.

​It was 2008, and the entire BPO office in Mandaluyong was buzzing. Around 250 employees had gathered for a town hall meeting. The atmosphere was electric, people were settling in, and the last few vacant seats were quickly disappearing. That’s when T.H., the big boss—the actual owner of the company—quietly entered the room. No grand entrance, no flashing lights. Just a calm, composed man looking for a seat like everyone else. He spotted one near a group of employees and walked over. There was a young woman sitting beside it—new to the company, barely two weeks in. T.H. politely leaned in and asked, “May I sit here?” The woman, assuming he was just someone’s dad who wandered into the building, frowned and replied, “No. That’s taken.” T.H., ever the gentleman, simply smiled and said, “Oh, okay,” and walked away to find another spot. As soon as he was out of earshot, the team erupted in laughter. “You just turned down the OWNER!” someone blurted out. The girl’s eyes widened in horror. “What? That was the owner? I didn’t know! I haven’t even seen his photo yet!” Cue facepalm. Everyone laughed, but the moment stuck. Because really—wasn’t there a deeper lesson hidden in all that awkward hilarity? How often does someone show up in our lives quietly, humbly, without fanfare—and we miss the opportunity to welcome them? Just like Jesus, who often comes not in glory but disguised in the ordinary, in a stranger, in a quiet request, in the simplest human moment. The girl may have just said “no” to a chair request, but for everyone there, it became a powerful—and very funny—reminder: Always make room. You never know Who’s asking.

In our first reading from Genesis, Abraham warmly receives three strangers with open arms and humble hospitality, unaware that he is, in fact, welcoming the Lord Himself. What begins as a simple act of kindness becomes a divine encounter. In Abraham’s readiness to receive and make room for the unknown, he is blessed with a promise that changes everything: a son, even in old age. This story reminds us that God's presence often comes in hidden forms—through interruptions, visitors, or quiet moments. When we make space for others and choose to act with love, we also make space for God. And though His promises may not be fulfilled in the timing we expect, they are never empty. Recognizing His presence and responding with faith allows transformation to begin. In welcoming God, we welcome life, hope, and the unfolding of His faithful plan.

Rain poured outside as Modesto tightened the leaky kitchen faucet—again. The roof dripped, the rice was nearly gone, and their electricity had just been cut. “Nothing’s working,” he muttered. Beside him, Divina set down a tin cup of lukewarm coffee and whispered, “Maybe not… but we are.” He looked at her, worn but smiling. “How do you still smile? We have nothing.” She held his calloused hand. “We don’t have much, yes. So maybe we’re not happy today. But joy… joy is knowing I still get to choose you every morning. Even in the dark.” He blinked away tears. Happiness, they both knew, was fragile—dependent on working lights, warm meals, peaceful days. But joy? Joy was fiercer. Joy stayed, even when the faucet still leaked, the money still ran out, and the storms wouldn’t stop. Because joy had chosen to stay. And so had they.

Take the story of Modesto and Divina. Their small home, filled with dripping faucets and flickering lights, was far from ideal. Happiness seemed scarce. Yet, joy remained. They smiled not because their days were easy, but because love endured. Every day, despite the wear and tear of life, they chose each other. This quiet choosing mirrors what St. Paul writes in Colossians 1:24–28. Paul rejoices even in suffering—not because he enjoys pain, but because he knows who is present in it. “Christ in you, the hope of glory.” It’s not fleeting happiness he holds onto—it’s lasting joy that comes from communion with Christ. True joy doesn’t rely on ease or comfort—it flows from loving and serving Him, even when it’s difficult. Like faithful spouses, we choose Christ again and again, even in sorrow. And while He does not promise constant happiness, His presence assures us of a joy that is deep, steady, and unshakable.

In 1995, during Saint Pope John Paul II’s visit to the U.S., he stayed at St. Charles Borromeo Seminary in Philadelphia. One night, he made an unscheduled stop at the chapel to pray. Before he entered, security swept the area using rescue dogs trained to detect life, heartbeat, and presence. Suddenly, the dogs went wild—alerting their handlers that someone was already there. But the chapel was empty. Or so it seemed. The dogs kept circling one spot: right in front of the tabernacle. Though no human eye saw anyone, those rescue dogs recognized what many forget—the living presence of Christ in the Eucharist. If animals trained to detect life could sense Him, how much more should we respond to His presence with full, undivided attention? Christ waits for us—silent, real, alive. Will we stay distracted, or will we kneel like Pope John Paul II did and give Him the love He deserves?

In our Gospel from Luke, Jesus lovingly calls Martha to pause—to stop worrying and be still like her sister Mary, who simply sat at His feet and listened. Mary wasn’t just physically present—she was emotionally and spiritually attuned. Her whole being leaned in to love, to listen, to be with Him. In our busy world filled with noise, pressure, and distraction, it’s easy to miss the quiet nearness of Christ. Yet He doesn’t ask for extravagance—just our attention. To sit at His feet is to surrender our schedule and open our heart, letting His presence speak into our lives. Today, make sacred space. Not while scrolling or multitasking, but in stillness and solitude. Give Him undivided time, not as a chore, but as a cherished offering. Because in welcoming Him this way, we don’t just find peace—we encounter the very heart of God.

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