There is something very comforting and helpful about that period, in the liturgical calendar, known as ordinary time. From Advent through to the feast of Corpus Christi, the Church follows an exciting journey of conception, birth, mission, ministry, persecution, death, resurrection, and sanctification. Most years from the end of November through to the middle of June, we are caught up in the richness of times that take us from Advent to Pentecost--with the exception of a few weeks between the end of the Christmas season and Ash Wednesday. We are given a unique chance to see how the gospel story unfolds from an initial proclamation to bringing this good news to all. It is gospel of encounter, as 'the word was made flesh and lived among us' (Jn 1:14). Through the seasons from winter to early summer, we are presented with the totality of what it means to be part of the paschal mystery. We share the confusion, challenge and pain of Mary and Joseph in annunciation. We journey with them to the joy of the birth of Jesus in poverty, and we witness their fleeing to Egypt as refugees. We share the ministry and outreach of Jesus to all those he met, especially those who were on the margins of society. We once again live a ministry of true encounter, where we see Jesus reaching out through care, gentleness, and healing. Through story and prophet witness, Jesus makes the reign of God a living reality in the lives of so many people. Through the gift of incarnation, we see God not only speaking words of healing, but acting out those words in his ministry of compassion. It is the care of God that recognises the hunger of the crowd and provides more than enough to eat. It is the care of God that forgives the woman, caught in adultery, urging her to 'go and sin no more' (Jn 8:11). It is the care of God who speaks through beautiful parables and poetry. In the story of the 'Prodigal Son' we get to experience that unconditional love; in the 'Good Samaritan' we realise that we cannot sit on the fence—we have to call out wrongdoing, as it can never be good enough to 'pass by on the other side' (Lk 10:31). Through the ministry of Jesus, we have a real glimpse into the encounter that God wants with each of us. Not only does Jesus speak God's word, but he also puts it into practice.

As the season of ordinary time dawns, we are plunged into yet more encounters that are deemed to be 'ordinary'. Apart from a few special feast days, such as Assumption and All Saints, the liturgy of the Church does not present the high drama of birth, baptism, temptation, fasting, celebration, suffering, death, resurrection, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. From mid-June to the end of November, the Church asks us to live through five months of 'ordinary time'. However, through the extraordinary encounter of Jesus with our world, how can time ever be deemed just ordinary? We are invited to make the gospel something that is alive and active through a conscious following of the teaching of Jesus—our lives are transformed so that we can live a resurrection experience at all times. Pope Francis helps us to appreciate our need for such a divine encounter right through the year:

The Gospel comes alive in our own day, whenever we accept the compelling witness of people whose lives have been changed by their encounter with Jesus. For two millennia, a chain of such encounters has communicated the attractiveness of the Christian adventure. The challenge that awaits us, then, is to communicate by encountering people, where they are and as they are. (Vatican News Service 23/01/2021)

Jesus was constantly being criticised and condemned by his religious leaders for spending time with 'tax collectors and prostitutes'—the common term for the worst possible sinners (see Matt 21:31). Yet spending time with them was something that Jesus saw as essential because it lay at the heart of his ministry of encounter. For Jesus it was not just a simple chat outside the shop or over a coffee after Sabbath prayer; for Jesus it was a real conversation that involves true listening. It meant that he had to engage with those he was talking with; what better place to do this than at the table over good food and wine? However, the religious leaders saw this as totally unacceptable: to eat with the sinner, Jesus would have to enter the home of the sinner and be part of the family. In our more reserved culture, we often do not want to open up to strangers, but the Palestinian culture is far more relaxed. They would subscribe to Irish proverb that 'a stranger is the friend you have not met yet!'

I was once Chaplain to a Holy Land pilgrimage: on the second day the driver told us that it was the birthday of our wonderfully informative and helpful guide; we had a collection to show our appreciation. He was totally overwhelmed by this simple act and invited us all to his home for his birthday party where we met his family and friends—that evening, totally unplanned, was one of our highlights as we shared the 'Fifth Gospel'. It made me think of Jesus in his desire to reach out to others in their comfort zone. The Pharisees claimed to adhere to the law of Moses as well as the tradition of the elders, and by creating their own set of rules, they established themselves as righteous and all who didn't comply were labelled sinners. Jesus exposed the lie that the religious leaders were righteous and warned them of their true state:

Don't follow their example. For they don't practice what they teach. They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden. Everything they do is for show. (Matt 23: 3-5)

As we reflect on Jesus' quest for table fellowship, we can think about our own experience of eating with family and friends. I enjoy the beauty of spending quality time over the table. I've learnt some very valuable lessons during the pain and isolation brought about the infamous lockdowns of just a few years ago. In pre-Covid times, there was always something that needed to be done in the parish community and the danger was that I would use the dining room as a quick pit-stop before I got on with the 'real work'—for that I must apologise to my understanding community. This time of isolation and lockdown has taught me that it is good to waste time with each other and relax with no agenda. It also gave me time to indulge in a favourite hobby of mine; I went back to the kitchen and discovered the joy of cooking for others. If we eat three basic meals a day, then we get through an astounding 1,095 meals a year. The ministry of Jesus, sandwiched as it was between the great wedding feast at Cana and the Last Supper with his disciples, makes use of table fellowship. Those ordinary meals taken with Jesus, take on a whole new meaning: the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

In the intimacy of a meal, Jesus can preach his Gospel of inclusion: as they literally break bread together and share, Jesus offers us a sign of things to come. He offers an invitation to the great banquet in the reign of God. Thus, it is fitting that his last, full community experience with all his disciples was the Last Supper—so well satisfied were they from this meal that we do well to remember that most of his friends fell asleep in the Garden prior to his arrest. According to the Gospel of John, this meal began with the ultimate act of service in the washing of the feet. The Synoptics go on to tell us how Jesus took bread, broke it, and shared it with those close friends, reminding them that this was indeed his body, broken for all. The cup of blessing was the wine of joy and happiness, the blood that was shed and drained because of the unconditional love that God has for the world. The Eucharist was the ultimate meal of sharing: sharing Word, sharing the life of Jesus, and sharing the company of each other. This is summed up beautifully by Wright when he reflects:

When Jesus himself wanted to explain to his disciples what his forthcoming death was all about, he didn't give them a theory, he gave them a meal. (NT Wright, Evil and the Justice of God, 2010)

The experience of really sharing a meal together means that we move away from sitting around the TV with plates balanced carefully on our laps and sit around the family table. True sharing means we switch off our social media and offer each other unconditional attention. We have no agenda apart from getting to know each other that bit better, and enjoying fully what each member brings to the table - no matter how old you are or what level of education you have attained. Around that table we are equals in the sight of God. I give thanks for the many ordinary meals that I have shared with family, community, and friends. Meals were shared. Stories were told. Sins were confessed. We laughed together and cried together. Together we remembered where we'd been, and we dreamed of where we might one day go. We prayed at that table. And there we experienced God's nearness, God's kindness, and God's love. Please enjoy that family table time and remember those who have to shield, those who are alone, those confused and hurt; those who do not have the support and immediate care of a family. In the midst of a world that increasingly seems to have lost its way with regard to matters of both food and the soul, Christian spirituality has something important to say about the way that sharing tables nourishes us both physically and spiritually. We need a recovery of the spiritual significance of what we eat, where we eat, and with whom we eat.

Those family mealtimes are, in my opinion, what the poet John O'Donohue calls the 'Eucharist of the ordinary.' They are just a part of those ordinary and sacred times that we experience daily in school, home, work, the pub, the supermarket, and the playground: God blesses each of us all the time. We cannot make God in our image and confine the sacred to our Churches or prayer groups; God is not so limited! At Cana, on the shore of Galilee and at places of miraculous feeding of the crowds, Jesus always gives more than enough - God is not limited!

In the beautiful Emmaus Road encounter the grieving disciples could not recognise who the 'stranger' was-even after their peripatetic scripture lesson. Notice it is the two disciples who take the initiative and welcome the Risen Lord to their table of welcome. In reaching out to this 'stranger' they found God as he broke the Bread of Life and shared the Cup of Blessing. Salvation came to them in the context of a meal. Perhaps before we invite people to Jesus or invite them to church, we should invite them to dinner. If table fellowship is a spiritual discipline that is vital for shaping and sustaining our life with God for the world, we need to make a point to share our tables with people who are in our lives but far from God. This was one of the most distinctive aspects of Jesus's ministry. It is my prayer that we too can meet Jesus today in the ordinary - even the ordinary fish and chips you might share in your house today. In the midst of ordinary time, we have to remember that we do live in a holy place:

We seldom notice how each day is a holy place,

Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,

Transforming our broken fragments

Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.

(John O'Donohue, 'The Inner History of a Day')

Coming from Ireland, I am well aware of what true hunger can do. The Great Famine of the nineteenth century decimated the population. However, I believe it has built into the Irish psyche an empathy for those in similar situations. Think of the Irish response to the Ethiopian Famine—the generosity of this small nation was far greater, in real terms, than that of richer and more powerful countries. I also maintain that it meant, certainly in my house, a simple cup of tea always came with a sandwich, biscuit, or slice of cake—sometimes all three! The wonderful Irish poet, Patrick Kavanagh recalls the travails of his character, 'Patrick Maguire' who struggles to cope in his poem, 'The Great Hunger'. In reading this huge work, we have a feel for the utter devastation wrought by a simple thing like a potato blight—when you have nothing else, then the reality of famine hits home:

We will wait and watch the tragedy to the last curtain,

Till the last soul passively like a bag of wet clay

Rolls down the side of the hill…

In many ways, the character of 'Maguire' not only represents those striving to make some sort of living in those famine days, but also the Irish men and women of those early days of the Republic. Men and women, like my own grandparents who had to fight against the elements to put food on the table and have a little money in the pocket. Life was not easy, but they toiled through it all, giving their children and grandchildren a far better life than they could ever imagine. We stand on the shoulders of giants, and Kavanagh helps us to remember the sacredness of the land and that we walk on holy ground. Indeed, it is in the very ordinariness of every day that we encounter this God of love. Even in poverty, pain, and despair:

God is in the bits and pieces of Everyday –

A kiss here and a laugh again, and sometimes tears,

A pearl necklace round the neck of poverty.

Let us be grateful for the 'ordinary time' when we can focus on the beauty of our encounters with God. It can come in church, in our homes, and in the beauty of nature—even in the harsh ruggedness of a poor Irish farm. In walking through the ordinary may be value the extraordinary at work and active in our lives. As the author of the Hebrews reminds us, the Word of God will always make a deep impression, as we move forward in a true spirit of encounter:

The word of God is alive and active, sharper than any double-edged sword. It cuts all the way through, to where soul and spirit meet, to where joints and marrow come together. It judges the desires and thoughts of the heart. (Heb 4:12)

Author: Fr Gerry O'Shaughnessy SDB

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