Real Presence and Christian realism

If God gives us everything — his only-begotten Son — can there be any end to what we give back to God, to what we should give to God of ourselves?

Bishop Edward B. Scharfenberger

The Gospels are not shy about the challenges of everyday living. Practically any Gospel proclaimed at Mass revolves around situations human beings face at all times in all social and political settings. The main reason is that God meets us where we are. The passionate desire of God is to put it in terms we can relate to. Such love for humanity, for each and every person. Nothing is happening in our lives, individually and in our relationships, that is too insignificant or base for the grace to shed its light on.

Last Sunday, for example, we read of a political trap that the Pharisees set for Jesus. Because Jesus was doing the things that God does when incarnate in human flesh — forgiving sins, healing the sick, restoring broken relationships and overcoming conflicts and divisions wherever they may be — and they are not, they fear the loss of their control. They have already politicized their religious office by using it as a play for power. Jesus, therefore, is a rival and must be destroyed. 

Like Satan, because they have nothing creative to offer, they mock. Sending certain “undercover” agents, among them Herodians, who were basically political operatives, and rather than confront Jesus directly, they set up an impossible alternative in order to put Jesus either against the people or the state, in this case the emperor. We know the storied question: is it lawful to pay the (census) tax to Caesar? It is an age-old issue that we struggle with all the time. In general, Christianity has taken a non-confrontational position toward civic duties and even political activity, while emphasizing that there are moral and religious priorities that temper and even shape the role of government. Its actions primarily must serve the common good and not the egos and careers of the political class.

Jesus responds, first of all, calling out the hypocrisy of his interrogators — more precisely, the operatives and their motives behind the delegation — simply by exposing the truth. He asks them to produce the money in their pocket. The coin is probably a denarius, a day’s wage in Roman currency, and bearing a prominent image of Caesar. Oops! Yes, what they are about to try to frame him with — giving tribute to the pagan emperor with lucre bearing his graven image (idolatry!) — they are very much engaged in themselves. Recall that Jews shunned the use of Roman currency and often set up exchanges in the temple environs to avoid paying tribute — or appearing to worship — imperial subjects claiming divinity. Jesus does not tell them not to pay the tax, but only to give Caesar what is his, without defining it.

This will leave open the question in every social context and culture about how much allegiance — political, financial and civic — is due to government figures and institutions, especially where policies and priorities run afoul of moral principles and the good of those they are to serve. Is everything theirs? Hardly, as the second part of Jesus’ response teases out. “Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God” (Mt 22:21). What exactly belongs to God?

In one brief response, Jesus completely flips the focus of his pharisaical tempters from a position that would serve their interests — they really have no concern about Caesar himself — to what they ought and everyone else ought really to be doing, serving God. Cleverly, this contains an implication that Caesar, and those allied with him, ought to be working in God’s service as well. Basically, the statement suggests a difference between focusing ONLY on money, that is, losing sight of what it and all material things are really for, to give glory to God in serving the material and spiritual well-being of human beings. 

At the Eucharistic Revival which many of us experienced this past weekend, one of the most inspiring themes that the marvelous speakers kept returning to was the boundless generosity and mercy of God. God never tires of offering us forgiveness and the grace we need to overcome temptation and failure in our spiritual and moral lives. The Eucharist itself is the ultimate gift: God incarnate, pouring out his life — body, blood, soul and divinity — as food to be consumed and to transform us: the Real Presence of Christ. Just as, through the miracle of transubstantiation, the elements of bread and wine become his body and blood, so also we ourselves are transformed by what we consume, to be his mystical body the Church. If God gives us everything — his only-begotten Son — can there be any end to what we give back to God, to what we should give to God of ourselves?

Okay, so what is the currency by which one pays God? Clearly, money alone will not do it. Recall the passages from the Hebrew Scriptures in which God reminds the people that all of creation, all the beasts of the field and birds of the air, belong to God. No amount of sacrifices and burnt offerings, no material compensation can repay God for what God has given to us. Yet that does not mean that money and what we do with it has nothing to do with our spiritual well-being. 

One of the realities of church-world, if I may call it that, of parish, diocesan and even Vatican life, is that pennies do not fall from heaven, and we need material resources to worship God and do the works of mercy. It serves little purpose to argue this point though I do understand how annoying it can be to hear about money in church. Most priests and deacons (and bishops!) do not love talking about money. The thing is, Jesus keeps bringing it up all the time!

It came up last Sunday. It’s there constantly. The parable of the talents, the story of the rich young man, the image of the eye of the needle, the widow who gave a pittance (“all she had”), and so on. If there is one way of summing up the attitude of Jesus toward money, that he attempts to elicit from us, it is, quite bluntly, that we need to give it all away. Yes, of course, this is impractical and, as the title of this article announces, Christianity is realistic. Never has the Gospel been reduced to systemic impoverishment. Yet it remains a fact — a reality — of the spiritual life, that the happiest and saintliest among us are those who have detached themselves most from an acquisitive lifestyle. St. Francis remains to this day one of the most attractive models for a simple and joyful life. Those who follow the evangelical counsels and have taken vows of poverty continue to attest to this. Yet their lives are real and by no means “up in the clouds.” Can anyone argue Mother Teresa was not “down to earth,” practical?

As I have often shared from missions in which I have been blessed to participate in some of the poorest areas, the evangelizing witness of so many who have nothing in terms of what the world considers wealth still overflow with such richness of character, patience and kindness that their presence has significantly changed the lives of us who were so fortunate to encounter them. 

Our faith does not glorify or romanticize hardship and suffering. Many saintly people whom we have known, not only those we read about in the narratives about the canonized, but not a few whom we have been blessed to meet along our own spiritual pilgrimage, inspire and encourage us to accept those burdens and setbacks to our comfort, whatever their nature may be, as occasions to turn everything over to God and to rely entirely on the promise of Jesus that he will not leave us orphans or refuse to answer every supplication that we make to the heavenly Father in his name. 

Our faith is far from ideological or idealistic. It becomes most real where the rubber hits the road, where we are, at times, at our wits end and have no one but God to cry out to. As the adage goes, “there are no atheists on a sinking ship.” Jesus himself experiences the feeling of complete abandonment on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt 27:46). Remember, however low we may have sunk, whether with our own cooperation in the descent or by being submerged by the iniquity of others, Jesus has been there before, and he will be there with us again. Every time. Discouragement is Satan’s favorite ploy and the most diabolical of all temptations. Do not give into it. Ever. “Lord Jesus, I trust in you,” is the simplest of prayers. It is also the key to open the door of heaven. 

 @AlbanyDiocese