The hidden beauty of our Catholic faith. (To find it, look within).

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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 a Catholic church unique – distinct from other churches?

Perhaps the lingering smell of incense when you walk in; the sound of water trickling down the baptismal font; a large crucifix hanging over the altar; or the Stations of the Cross delicately lit along the wall.

Then, of course, there’s 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, 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 in fact the Body of our Risen Lord is what makes Catholics unique. This teaching has not only boggled the brightest minds in the Church, but also stumped ordinary believers like us.

“How can that be Jesus?” many ask. We ask. I ask.

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Theologians have written volumes over the centuries to answer this question. But instead of appealing to the logic of the mind, consider the logic of the heart.

Literally.

As early as the second century, Christians understood 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’ll literally use her beak to break open her chest, feeding her young with herself. It’s instinctive, written into her DNA; the mother freely offers herself in order to save her young.

I’m sure any mother can relate. You do what the pelican does – not in the sense of literally breaking yourself open, but you offer your life, your heart, even your body while pregnant for the sake of your children.

Mary did the same. She offered her body – and the next thirty years of her life – to God, so that God could become flesh.

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In today’s Gospel, Jesus promises to do the same – to break himself open and feed his disciples.

“I am the bread of life,” he says. “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him… Whoever eats this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.”

This is how we enter into full communion with God – a communion once lost in the Garden of Eden – by receiving Jesus in the Eucharist.

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This unimaginable gift comes with an invitation. And, you might say, quite a responsibility.

Whenever those sacred words are spoken, This is my Body … This is my Blood … everyone is invited to offer themselves in union with Christ.

Just as Jesus offers himself for us, so we are called to offer ourselves for others.

As Saint Teresa of Avila once wrote, “Christ has no body but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes with which He looks. Yours are the feet with which He walks. Yours are the hands with which He blesses. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

How do I use my eyes, my hands, and my feet to be Christ for others? 

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Think of all the tiny sacrifices we make throughout the day.

I think of pregnant mothers, who like a pelican, share their bodies with their unborn children; parents who sacrifice sleep and sanity to raise a family; those who care for an elderly parent or an aging spouse.

Those who run our parish soup kitchen; those who stand at the door and greet; our staff; our catechists; members of our choir; those who bring communion to the sick; or participate in other parish ministries.

In offering your time and talent, you are being Christ for others.

This is my body… this is my blood.

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So, what makes a Catholic church unique? The smell of incense, the sound of trickling water, or the delicately lit Stations of the Cross? Perhaps.

But, above all, it’s the tabernacle. It’s the Blessed Mother. It’s you. It’s me.

Every time we approach this altar and receive Jesus, we become what we consume – a living tabernacle; the hands, the feet, the face of Christ on earth.

Now share that love with others.

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Image credits: (1) U.S Catholic (2) Priest Stuff (3) Quietly Reminded