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Gospel: John 6: 51-58
Jesus said to the Jewish crowds:
“I am the living bread that came down from heaven;
whoever eats this bread will live forever;
and the bread that I will give
is my flesh for the life of the world.”
The Jews quarreled among themselves, saying,
“How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”
Jesus said to them,
“Amen, amen, I say to you,
unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood,
you do not have life within you.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood
has eternal life,
and I will raise him on the last day.
For my flesh is true food,
and my blood is true drink.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood
remains in me and I in him.
Just as the living Father sent me
and I have life because of the Father,
so also the one who feeds on me
will have life because of me.
This is the bread that came down from heaven.
Unlike your ancestors who ate and still died,
whoever eats this bread will live forever.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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What makes the inside of a Catholic church unique – distinct from other houses of worship?
Perhaps the lingering smell of incense; the sound of water trickling down the baptismal font; a large crucifix hanging over the altar; or the enduring sadness of the Stations of the Cross.
Then, of course, there’s the focal point, the tabernacle. Ours is red kissed in gold, located smack dab in the center of the sanctuary. Anyone who isn’t Catholic may wonder what’s inside. If we were to explain it to them, then we’d tell them not “what,” but “who,” is inside.
Jesus.
More than any other teaching, our belief that the Eucharist is not a mere piece of bread, but the Body of our Risen Lord is what makes the Catholic faith unique.
This belief has not only boggled the brightest minds in the history of the Church, but it has also stumped ordinary believers like us.
“How can that be Jesus?” many ask. We ask. I ask. Much like the crowds first hit with this teaching in today’s Gospel.
“I am the living bread that came down from heaven,” Jesus says. “Whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world. Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.”
Wow.
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Theologians have written volumes over the centuries trying to explain that the Eucharist is not a symbol, but really Jesus. Instead of diving into dense theological arguments, however, consider the logic of the heart.
Literally.
That’s how God is best understood.
As early as the second century, Christians taught others about the Eucharist by comparing Christ to a pelican.
In a time of famine, if a mother pelican cannot find food for her young, then she will literally use her beak to break open her chest, feeding her young with her blood. It’s instinctive, written into her DNA; the mother will offer herself in order to save her young.
I’m sure any mother can relate. You often do what the pelican does – not in the sense of breaking yourself open, but you offer your life, your heart, even your body while pregnant for the life of your child.
Jesus does the same for us – he feeds us with his very Self in the Eucharist, providing spiritual food for our journeys.
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This unimaginable gift also comes with quite the responsibility.
Whenever those sacred words are spoken, This is my Body … This is my Blood … we are invited to offer ourselves in union with Christ for the sake of others.
As Saint Augustine once said, “Become what you consume.”
Be Christ – bear Christ – in this world.
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Each time I celebrate Mass and repeat those sacred words, This is my Body… This is my Blood… I’m reminded of this responsibility to offer myself in unison with Christ for you.
Every homily written, every sermon preached, every Mass, baptism, wedding, anointing, and funeral celebrated is my way of offering myself for you.
And the more I give to you, the more I seem to have.
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Don’t we all feel the same?
The more we give, the more we have.
Think of the many sacrifices you might offer throughout the day, allowing yourself to respond with Jesus, this is my body… this is my blood.
I think of pregnant mothers, who like a pelican, share their bodies with their unborn child; parents who sacrifice sleep and sanity to raise a family; those who care for an elderly parent or an aging spouse.
Those who rise early and run our parish soup kitchen; those who stand at the door and greet before Mass; our staff; our catechists; members of our choir; those who bring communion to the sick; those who give of themselves through other parish ministries.
The list goes on.
In offering ourselves for others, we become like the Eucharist, bread broken and shared, nourishment for others.
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So, what makes a Catholic church unique? The smell of incense, the sound of trickling water, or the Stations of the Cross? Perhaps.
Above all, it’s the tabernacle. It’s you. It’s me.
It’s our belief that every time we approach the altar and receive Jesus, we become what we consume – a living tabernacle; the hands, the feet, the face of Christ in this world, offering ourselves in unison with him, who has first loved us and given himself for us.
May we all find ways to say with Christ, This is my body… this is my blood… given for you.
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Image credits: (1) Christ the Savior, Juan de Juanes (2) The Catholic Talks (3) Emmaus Music, YouTube
