A homily for the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, June 14, 2020
Dt 8:2-3, 14b-16a, 1 Cor 10:16-17, Jn 6:51-58
Our solemnity today of the Body and Blood of Christ — Corpus Christi, in popular parlance — is a profound veneration of God’s gift of the Son to humanity as our Savior. Jesus gave us his literal body and blood as a sacrifice for our sins — those already committed and those yet to be committed — and he gave us his body and blood in the Eucharist so that we could do likewise in memory of him.
Now, if he were here with us today, and told us we had to eat his flesh and drink his blood, and we’d never heard that before, would we freak out as much as the Jews did in today’s Gospel?
Probably.
We wouldn’t have 2,000 years of reflection and theology to draw upon to help us understand, as we do today. To us, it would sound like cannibalism, or a barbaric battlefield ritual, the way it did to the First Century Israelites. They certainly were familiar with the actions of soldiers with swords who ate a piece of their vanquished enemies’ bodies as a sign of respect or disrespect, depending on the army. How could this be a good thing? How could this messenger of peace and love suggest something the gladiators might do?
But as we do know today, The Word of God Made Flesh was demanding that we partake of the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Blessing.
As Catholics, we believe that Jesus is present in the consecrated — transubstantiated — bread and wine. Body and blood, soul and divinity. Really present, not symbolically.
And we believe that keeping the consecrated bread in the tabernacle means that Jesus is present in a real and special way at all times, making viaticum for the homebound and Eucharistic Adoration possible, among other things. That’s why we keep a special candle burning nearby.
Our Catholic Christian faith is centered on and nourished by the Eucharist; the Eucharist unites us as the Mystical Body of Christ, as church for one another.
But because the faithful in other Christian traditions do not believe in the Real Presence, or do not believe that the Real Presence continues on beyond the current liturgy, or do not participate in communion at all, then at best we agree to disagree.
Even though we’re all children of God, our beliefs and dogmas — our way of seeing God, of inviting God in as the center of our lives — put up barriers that divide us. And these days especially, far more than ever, we do not need anything to divide us. Not when our righteous responses to systemic racism and unequal distribution of wealth and health care are bringing so many diverse groups of us together.
So when we agree to disagree on the matter of the Eucharist, let’s also agree that we’ll take the time to listen to other faith perspectives. Because, after all, those perspectives were shaped by where someone was born, what family they were born into, where and how they were educated, and by the overall panoply of someone’s individual life experiences and the results of the choices they’ve made. All of us receive our religious traditions from our parents, and we develop our faith from those traditions. Most of us cling to them because of choice or because of comfort.
And, to be frank and honest, how many of us analyze our belief in the Real Presence as deeply as St. Katherine Drexel did? (Homework assignment…) We receive communion for spiritual nourishment, and we are buoyed by our physical reception of it, knowing that we are at that moment especially close to Christ.
It can be a mystical experience. The Eucharist helps define who we are as Catholics.
As long as it doesn’t become a wedge.
We Catholic Christians and our sisters and brothers in “high church” Protestant denominations such as the Lutheran and Episcopal/Anglican churches do have a more profound and reverent relationship with the Eucharist, but every believer in the Good News likewise believes in their role within the Mystical Body of Christ (even if they may not use that name). Every follower of the Son of Man knows the law of love. Every follower of the Lamb of God knows we are his hands and eyes and heart on earth now, that he sent the Spirit to guide us and strengthen us and keep us in the light.
When we sing “Christ has no body now but yours,” we acknowledge our call to follow him with charity wrapped in dignity and justice for those in need. And we know that throughout this pandemic and its economic impact there are many in need.
When our own spirits are uplifted by knowing that whenever two or more of us are gathered in his name, Jesus is there, we recognize that Jesus doesn’t discriminate or prejudge. He sees everyone as created in the image and likeness of God.
And so must we.
When we see someone on the margins of society, we remember that those downtrodden children of God were the ones Jesus gravitated to, that he lifted the lowly and cast down the mighty from their thrones. How many people do we enthrone in our lives because of some sort of fame or fortune or star power or athletic prowess? Are we aiming our esteem in the right place?
In the final analysis, we as Catholics are blessed to have the Real Presence through the Eucharist. But every Christian of whatever tradition s/he follows has the Christ with them, because Jesus sacrificed his body and blood to save every one of our souls.
“… This is my body, which will be given up for you.”
“… This is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you ….”
We do this, and we do much, much more, in memory of Jesus.
