“Do this – be this – in memory of me.” A meditation on the Eucharist.

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Gospel: Mark 14: 12-16, 22-26

On the first day of the Feast of Unleavened Bread,
when they sacrificed the Passover lamb,
Jesus’ disciples said to him,
“Where do you want us to go
and prepare for you to eat the Passover?”
He sent two of his disciples and said to them,
“Go into the city and a man will meet you,
carrying a jar of water.
Follow him.
Wherever he enters, say to the master of the house,
‘The Teacher says, “Where is my guest room
where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”‘
Then he will show you a large upper room furnished and ready.
Make the preparations for us there.”
The disciples then went off, entered the city,
and found it just as he had told them;
and they prepared the Passover.


While they were eating,
he took bread, said the blessing,
broke it, gave it to them, and said,
“Take it; this is my body.”
Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them,
and they all drank from it.
He said to them,
“This is my blood of the covenant,
which will be shed for many.
Amen, I say to you,
I shall not drink again the fruit of the vine
until the day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”
Then, after singing a hymn,
they went out to the Mount of Olives.

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Many of you know, I’m a convert to the Catholic faith. I wasn’t raised with any deep religious foundation; I was only baptized in a Protestant church as a child.

But as I entered my teenage years, I started questioning, searching for God. 

So, when I went off to college, I started going to Mass; it was a Catholic university. After 100 Sundays of watching others sit, stand, kneel, then proceed forth for Communion, I came to the simple conclusion: “That’s either Jesus, or it’s not.”

“And if it is, then I must have him.”

So, I became a Catholic … and, years later, a priest. 

Often, we get caught up in the question of, “How can that be Jesus?” The Eucharist looks like just a piece of bread. Perhaps it’s better to focus not on how, but, “Why would that be him?”

It seems the stage was set from the very first pages of the Bible.

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In the Book of Genesis, how do Adam and Eve break their communion with God?

Through an act of eating.

As Satan the serpent slithers in the Garden of Eden, he convinces Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge. She then shares that fruit with Adam. 

This breaks the command given by God to Adam: “You are free to eat from any of the trees in the garden, except the tree of knowledge of good and evil. From that tree you shall not eat; when you eat from it, you shall die.”

Christians understand this to be the origin of sin – and by extension the evil that is still present in our world. Once humanity’s relationship with God was severed through a disobedient act of eating, “all hell broke loose,” as it were.

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In today’s Gospel, Jesus reverses that ancient curse of Eden by establishing a new, final covenant, also through an act of eating. 

“Take this, all of you, and eat of it,” he says. “This is my body, given up for you… This is my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant. Do this in memory of me.”

Adam and Eve ate from the tree of knowledge.

In the Eucharist, we eat from the tree of life. 

As the Lord promises elsewhere, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day.”

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Pondering this truth that we receive Christ in the Eucharist is enough “food for thought.”

But receiving our Lord also comes with great responsibility. As Saint Augustine once taught, “Become what you consume.” Become like Christ in the Eucharist – bread broken and shared, offering nourishment for others. 

So, each morning as I hold that sacred Host in my hand, I pray in union with the Lord, saying silently in my heart, “This is also my body, my heart given up for you – this community of faith.”

Every encounter, every homily written, every Mass, baptism, wedding, anointing, or funeral celebrated is my way of offering myself with Jesus … for you. 

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Don’t we all attempt to satisfy that command in some way?

“Do this – be this – in memory of me?”

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I think of parents who sacrifice sleep and sanity to raise a family; those who care for an elderly parent or an aging spouse; those involved in parish ministry, and so on. We give ourselves freely for this community of faith, each in our own way.

As Saint Teresa of Avila once wrote:

“Christ has no body now 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.”

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His body becomes our body every time we receive him in the Eucharist.

So, “Do this – be this – bread broken, life for others, in memory of me.”

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Image credits: (1) Do This In Memory of Me, Andy Schmalen, Fine Art America (2) Aleteia (3) Roman Catholic Diocese of Burlington

A moment in scripture where “all generations” are represented… And what that means for us.

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Gospel: Luke 1:39-45

Mary set out in those days
and traveled to the hill country in haste
to a town of Judah,
where she entered the house of Zechariah
and greeted Elizabeth. 
When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,
the infant leaped in her womb,
and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit,
cried out in a loud voice and said,
“Most blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb. 
And how does this happen to me,
that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 
For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears,
the infant in my womb leaped for joy. 
Blessed are you who believed
that what was spoken to you by the Lord
would be fulfilled.”

And Mary said:
 “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;
            my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
            for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
            the Almighty has done great things for me,
            and holy is his Name.

He has mercy on those who fear him
            in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm,
            he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
            and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
            and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel
            for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
            the promise he made to our fathers,
            to Abraham and his children for ever.”

Mary remained with her about three months
and then returned to her home.

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Our parish vision statement begins with the words, “All generations journeying together.”

So much of that inspiration comes from today’s Gospel, when Mary and Elizabeth embrace. Together, these expectant mothers represent “all generations.” 

Elizabeth, a barren, elderly woman married for many years. Mary, an unwed teenager. And their unborn children, John and Jesus, representing their hope for the future.

Though Mary and Elizabeth’s age and life experiences are different, they find in each other things they couldn’t have on their own: Community. Affirmation. Friendship. Belonging. Understanding.

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That’s what we seek to offer here, as well. 

At St. Pius X, we journey with the elderly; with married couples; with expectant mothers; with teenagers; with children; with the unborn; with those joining online; with anyone seeking the love and support of a community.

Though we are of different ages and life experiences, we can find in one another what Mary found with Elizabeth.

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Our challenge is to constantly expand our embrace, to set out in haste, inviting new members into the fold. 

Everyone needs the support of a community.

So, why not journey with us, either here or even from afar?

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Image credits: (1) The Visitation, National Catholic Register (2) Creator Spiritus, James Janknegt (3) GROW Devotional Series, Amazon

Do you really want to see?

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Gospel: Mark 10: 46-52

As Jesus was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd,
Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus,
sat by the roadside begging.
On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth,
he began to cry out and say,
“Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” 
And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent.
But he kept calling out all the more, “Son of David, have pity on me.”
Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.”
So they called the blind man, saying to him,
“Take courage; get up, Jesus is calling you.”
He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus.
Jesus said to him in reply, “What do you want me to do for you?”
The blind man replied to him, “Master, I want to see.”
Jesus told him, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.”
Immediately he received his sight
and followed him on the way.

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Space and Sight was a book written in the 1960’s, documenting the first people in the world to undergo cataract surgery. All of the patients were blind from birth.

Suddenly after surgery, they could see.

While their first moments of sight were truly inexplicable – how can you put into words the moment your world transitions from total darkness into light? – some of the patients’ longer-term reactions were surprising.

Many fell into depression. The world was abruptly complex, filled with motion, color, distance, shapes, faces, and visible forms of human suffering.

One girl locked herself inside her room for two weeks, refusing to open her eyes. 

Ironically, those patients were faced with the very same question after surgery as they were before: “Do you want to see?”

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In today’s Gospel, a blind man named Bartimaeus is healed by Jesus. Now he, too, can see.

Mark does not tell us how Bartimaeus reacted to the instantaneous rush of light and color, only that, “he received his sight and followed Jesus on the way.”

Some of the first places that Bartimaeus would’ve seen were the outskirts of Jerusalem, a bloodthirsty crowd, the Lord who healed him nailed to a tree, a garden, and an empty tomb.

Things which would forever change him not only physically, but also spiritually.

This also begs the question, “Like Bartimaeus, do we want to see?”

Do you want to see the Lord in your neighbor – hungry, tired, and thirsting for love? Do you want to see your own imperfections and need for conversion? Do you want to see the path of surrender paved by faith and walk it?

“Do you want to see?”

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“Yes, Lord. Give us eyes of faith, the grace to accept what appears, and the courage to act on it.”

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Image credits: (1) Warby Parker (2) Bartimaeus, LinkedIn (3) eofoptical.com