Tobit 2:1-6: a reflection

1Now when I had come home again, and my wife Anna was restored to me, and my son Tobias, in the feast of Pentecost, which is the holy feast of the seven weeks, there was a good dinner prepared for me, and I sat down to eat. 2I saw abundance of meat, and I said to my son, “Go and bring whatever poor man you find of our kindred, who is mindful of the Lord. Behold, I wait for you.” 3Then he came, and said, “Father, one of our race is strangled, and has been cast out in the marketplace.” 4Before I had tasted anything, I sprang up, and took him up into a chamber until the sun had set. 5Then I returned, washed myself, ate my bread in heaviness, 6and remembered the prophecy of Amos, as he said, “Your feasts will be turned into mourning, and all your mirth into lamentation.

It is the feast of Pentecost, and a good dinner is set before Tobit. Before he eats, he sends his son to find a poor and faithful man among their people to share the meal. His first thought at a feast is not his own enjoyment but the hungry who have no table. That instinct, to look outward in the moment of plenty, tells you a great deal about the man.

But his son returns with grievous news: one of their people has been killed and left lying in the marketplace. Tobit springs up, leaves his food untouched, and sees to the body, waiting until sunset to bury it. He remembers the words of the prophet Amos, that feasts would be turned into mourning. His celebration becomes an act of mercy and grief, his joy interrupted by another's need.

There is something to learn from a man whose feast could be interrupted by compassion. It is easy to guard our comforts and look away from what would trouble them. Tobit shows a heart so tuned to others that he could not sit and eat while a duty of mercy lay undone. Ask God for that kind of heart, one willing to let its own comforts be interrupted when someone nearby is in real need.

Lord, give me Tobit's heart, quick to share my table with the hungry and willing to leave my own comfort when mercy calls. Do not let me guard my ease by looking away from others' need. When you set a duty of compassion before me, even in the middle of my joy, help me to rise and do it, trusting you with what I set aside. Amen.