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Two weeks ago on
Pentecost Sunday, I asked the members of the congregation to recall the
day and date when they made their personal commitment to the Catholic
faith in the Sacrament of Confirmation. After all, spiritually
speaking, that day wasn’t “just another day.” It was the day we
publicly committed ourselves to think about matters of faith and morals
as Catholics do, to live as Catholics do, and to evangelize others about
the truth our faith confesses so that others might respect and love our
Catholic faith as much as we did on the day we were confirmed in that
faith. Being confirmed didn’t mean that we had all of the answers; it
meant that we would follow the pathway of our faith as “the way, the
truth, and the life.”
On this Solemnity of
the Body and Blood of Christ, I ask you once again to recall a day and
date. Namely, do you remember the day and date when you invited Christ
to enter into your body, to nourish and to strengthen you in holiness,
and to transform you into his very person so that you might be the
living presence of Christ―his
body and his blood―alive
and at work in the world?
I remember my First
Holy Communion. It was exactly forty years ago this past May 18th.
That Saturday morning was a bright and sunny day. Spring was written
all over: the bushes, trees, and flowers were in full bloom. During the
days leading up to May 18th,
Sr. Rose Nicholas, OP, practiced us several times so that everyone would
do everything right when the pastor, Fr. Harold T. O’Hara, would give us
our first Holy Communion.
When the day came
and, as the start of the 10:00 a.m. Mass neared, all of the guys were
lined up in front of Our Lady of the Wayside Church dressed in white
shirts, black ties, black pants, black belts, black sox, and black tie
shoes. The girls were lined up, too. They were dressed in “two inches
below the knee” white dresses, white gloves, white sox, white shoes, and
a white veil. The guys carried a black rosary and the girls carried a
white rosary. My rosary had been blessed by Pope John XXIII, a gift
from my father who had just returned from a business trip to Europe.
The guys and the girls were paired as couples. Anita Weber was my
partner or, as I called her, “my First Holy Communion bride.” At the
time, I wondered if God wanted us to marry our First Holy Communion
partners when we grew up. Anita didn’t seem much interested.
I don’t recall much
of what happened during the mass, especially what Fr. O’Hara said in his
homily that morning. Perhaps it wasn’t all that noteworthy because what
he said probably reiterated what I had already memorized in the
catechism.
I do, however,
clearly recall a couple of things that stood out as being not only
unusual but also quite significant.
When Catholics went
to communion in those days, it was customary that they knelt down on a
step in front of the altar rail which set the sanctuary of the church
apart from the pews. When it came time for Communion, the priest would
descend three steps down from the altar, proceed what Sr. Rose Nicholas
called the “praedella” to the altar rail and, then, up and down
the altar rail distributing Communion. The communicants would tilt
their heads up and stick their tongues out. Then, the priest would say
something and place a host on their tongue.
To a kid watching
all of this from the pews, it sort of looked like the priest was rifling
hosts into people’s mouths. Repeating itself week after week, this
scene made for some imaginative and comical relief during the long
period when congregants went to communion. I guess that I should
have been deep in prayer but all I could see in my mind’s eye the priest
hitting the wall at the end of the altar rail and, bouncing off of it,
he was now re‑energized to proceed down the altar rail once again in the
opposite direction, just to hit the other wall and bounce off of it to
complete what looked like a “Communion pinball machine.”
On the day of my
First Holy Communion, however, the gates located at the center of the
altar rail weren’t closed. Instead, they were open. And, when it came
time to receive Holy Communion, instead of kneeling on the step before
the altar rail, each couple walked up the first step, across the
praedella, and then up two of the three steps. The altar was
located a couple of yards back on the raised floor whose borders were
defined by the third step. Together, Anita and I knelt on the third
step, sort of like brides and grooms did at their weddings. Immediately
before us at chest level was a long white cloth with fancy, gold
embroidered edges. The altar boys held the cloth taut, I guess, just in
case Fr. O’Hara dropped a host. Fr. O’Hara loomed large (although he
was only about 5’ 3”) standing behind the white cloth. After we tilted
our heads up, Fr. O’Hara said something in Latin beginning with “Domini
non sum dignus” to which we responded, “Amen.” He then gave each of
us our First Holy Communion.
Walking through the
gates, walking up the steps to the altar, and, then, contemplating that
white cloth with its gold embroidery, communicated to me that First Holy
Communion was something extraordinary. Yes, I knew that I was receiving
the Body of Christ. (No lay person received the Blood of Christ in
those days.) Yes, I knew that this “spiritual food” was meant to
nourish and strengthen us in holiness so that we might be the living
presence of Christ in the world. I knew all of that stuff in my mind.
On that day, it was those small symbolic things that communicated the
significance of the Sacrament. I knew absolutely something very
important was transpiring.
In those days,
Catholics also had to prepare ourselves to receive Communion. To focus
upon what it was they would be receiving, Catholics had to fast from
food and drink for at least three hours prior to receiving Holy
Communion. As harsh as I thought that was, previous to 1958, my parents
had to fast from food and drink from the previous midnight until they
received Holy Communion. I think that’s why my dad always preferred to
go to 6:30 a.m. Mass. And, as was the custom in our home, we also
had to take a bath and put on our best clothes for Mass. There was no
Saturday evening Mass because Catholics went to Confession on Saturday
evening so that they’d be spiritually prepared to receive Holy Communion
on Sunday morning. I didn’t quite know why my mother would inspect our
hands before Mass to make sure they were clean, since we couldn’t touch
the host anyway. But, that’s the way it was. This is how one prepared
to receive Holy Communion in our house, no if’s, and’s, or but’s about
it.
I’m recalling these
events not to take a trip down memory lane. Instead, I do so to
consider the distance we’ve traveled as Catholics during the past forty
years, for better or for worse.
The altar rail is
gone, as are the gates. Most communicants don’t kneel down or tilt
their heads up to receive Holy Communion. The priest doesn’t utter a
short incomprehensible prayer in Latin to which the communicants respond
“Amen.” At some masses, communicants even receive the Blood of Christ
in addition to the Body of Christ. And, Catholics only have to fast one
hour prior to receiving Holy Communion. Most of these liturgical and
disciplinary changes have been for the better making the Eucharist not
an inaccessible mystery, but more of a personal encounter with the Son
of God who has given his disciples the gift of his body and blood. The
Eucharist is the Lord’s gift which should bring us great consolation and
joy as it nourishes and strengthens us in our struggle to follow in his
footsteps in our daily lives.
Just thinking about
the magnitude of these changes, everything Catholics used to take for
granted forty years ago, any Catholic today who is younger than forty
would think rather quaint, if not a tad bit bizarre. Considering how
things used to be, young Catholics might even wonder whether they were
entering Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone or whether we had just
landed on planet Earth, brought here from deep in extraterrestrial space
by Flash Gordon.
So, even as
momentous change has occurred in our Eucharistic liturgy the past forty
years, one thing has remained constant. That is, we receive the
Eucharist from Christ the Lord not as one gift―however
precious―among
many others, but as the gift par excellence, the gift of himself,
of his person, in his sacred humanity, as well as the gift of his saving
work. This is the living sacrament from which we draw our spiritual
life and though which we become the person of Christ living and present
in our world. “Truly, truly, I say to you,” Jesus taught his disciples,
“unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you
have no life within you” (John 6:53) because “My flesh is food indeed,
and my blood is drink indeed” (John 6:55).
But, in some other
ways, we all know that “familiarity breeds contempt.” And it may well
be the case that these liturgical changes which have made the Eucharist
more of a personal encounter with the Lord may also have diluted our
sense of awe in preparing for and approaching this great and living
mystery of our faith. It now well may be the case that Holy Communion
is no longer a meeting place between heaven and earth but just one of
many meeting places here on earth.
Here’s a couple of
ways I see this negative outcome present in the life of our parish:
Eager preparation
and anticipation to celebrate the Eucharist?
Sadly, it is fact in
our parish community that more than 30% of the congregation (and
sometimes it’s almost 50% of the congregation) comes to celebrate the
Eucharist at least 10 minutes after Mass has started. Seeing how
empty the church is just five minutes before Mass, I sometimes joke with
the ushers and say, “I think I’m going to start mass fifteen minutes
early today.” Getting to this meeting place early enough to get seated
and calmed down, to contemplate why we are gathering here, and to open
our hearts and minds to the presence of the living God seems not to be a
priority for a least 30% of us. There are all so many excuses which
really boil down to one simple excuse: we have too many things to do at
too many other places. Coming late to the meeting place between heaven
and earth, it seems if one is to judge by the numbers, doesn’t really
make any wit of difference…except to those parishioners who one’s
tardiness serves only to distract from prayerful preparation and active
participation in this sacrament which unites heaven and earth.
Outfitted to meet
the living God?
Whenever we are
going to some place special or to meet some special person, we groom
ourselves and dress appropriately―as
my niece Gretchen says―by
“stylin’.” I don’t quite know what stylin’ is and, my neice tells me, I
don’t style all that well but, judging solely from the way many
communicants have groomed and dressed themselves, it’s very hard to
distinguish in some cases whether they’ve come to this meeting place
between heaven and earth on their way from another meeting place―like
the mall, the shore, Blockbuster’s―or
vice‑versa. In some instances, it’s patently obviously that an
individual hasn’t even washed his hands into which he is receiving the
body of Christ. I’m not talking about a laborer’s calloused hands.
No, I’m talking about hands that look like they’ve just completed the
weekend yard and gardening chores, nine innings of a baseball game, or
both halves of a soccer match. Unfortunately, taking time to groom and
to attire oneself appropriately to come to the meeting place between
heaven and earth, the meeting place of the living God is, for some
parishioners, a second priority.
Practicing a little
self-denial to remind ourselves who we are about to receive?
Forget fasting
before receiving Holy Communion. For many, that’s just a trifling,
insignificant matter, a pious relic of a bygone past. You all know and
you do laugh when I sometimes remind people in the congregation―and
it’s not young people for the most part―to
take the gum out of their mouths before receiving Holy Communion. As I
say “Happy are we who are called to share in this his life,” it
sometimes looks from my side of the altar like I’m facing a herd of
dairy cows, chewing their fodder and munching on their cud. Then, after
I remind the congregation about gum chewing and see people trying to
figure out what to do with their gum, I also have to tell them, “Don’t
stick the gum under the pew or in a missallette.” For many
parishioners, disciplining our palette to receive the body and blood of
Christ isn’t quite as important as gorging ourselves with an unnecessary
last-minute snack or worrying about what others may think about the
quality of our breath.
Then there’s the
rush to the exits by about 20% of the congregation after receiving Holy
Communion. But, since I am discussing the sacred meal today, I’ll talk
about the dessert on another occasion. And, there’s a lot to discuss
about leaving Mass early.
In response to what
might sound like my list of “gripes,” many may well assert that these
are merely “externals” and I shouldn’t harp on them because I might
offend people. “After all,” a parishioner once chided me for chiding
the congregation about something, “at least they’ve come to Mass.
You should cut them some slack.” For my part, I respond that you are
probably correct, that is, I will offend some members of the
congregation. However, my responsibility is to proclaim the faith we
hold as Catholics and I believe that lax attitudes toward these
externals reveal something far more spiritually malignant than bad
manners.
Over the past forty
years, public opinion poll after public opinion poll has revealed that
Catholics in the United States increasingly believe less and less that
the bread and wine we present as gifts at the Offertory become the Body
and Blood of Christ at the moment of the consecration. In the most
recent poll that I read, somewhere near 75% of Catholics think―as
do Protestants―that
the bread and the wine we partake of in Holy Communion merely symbolize
the Body and Blood of Christ.
Poll results are
poll results. But, that finding struck home to me last Christmas when
my nephew, Brenden, set some time aside to ask me some questions he had
about the Catholic faith.
One of my nephew’s
questions concerned Holy Communion and how the Church can believe that
the Eucharist is the Body and Blood of Christ. There was no antagonism
in Brenden’s questioning or tone, just respectful, honest inquiry. I
knew that Brenden wasn’t going to buy any simplistic answer for which he
had a ready answer. And, from the points he argued, it was absolutely
clear to me that his theology classes at a Catholic university armed him
not with Catholic thought but with all of the Protestant arguments
against our faith, that is, that the bread and the wine are not the Body
and Blood of Christ but symbols memorializing the Last Supper. As we
talked, it seemed to me that Brenden wanted to know how someone like me―and,
like him, too, if I provided him with a thoughtful response which made
sense―could
believe something for which there is absolutely no scientific proof.
As St. Augustine would say, “The mystery of the Eucharist is something
you have to believe if you are to understand. You can’t understand
the Eucharist as a precondition to believe in it.”
As I cast about
trying to respond thoughtfully to Brenden’s questions about the
Eucharist, I suggested that we assume that his argument is true, namely,
that the Eucharist is merely a symbol and the reception of Holy
Communion is nothing more than symbolic of Brenden’s profound respect
for Jesus, his teaching as well as his life, death, and resurrection for
the salvation of all people. That argument strikes a nice chord,
doesn’t it? Brenden prepares himself to come to church, to participate
in the liturgy, and he walks forward to receive the symbols. This is
how, from his side, Brenden demonstrates his profound reverence
and respect for Jesus.
Were this true,
however, there would be absolutely nothing coming to Brenden from God’s
side. That is, devoid of the true reality of Jesus’ body and blood,
Holy Communion would offer Brenden nothing that would nourish and
strengthen him spiritually in his journey as a disciple. Communion
would just be a symbolic memorial about how Jesus offered his body and
blood and how Brenden now offers his body and blood to Jesus.
So, “If that is
true,” I asked Brenden in my best of ironic tones, “why would anyone go
to Communion? It’d be nothing more than a stale tablet of bread
reflecting no initiative on God’s part.” Analogous to the Protestant
work ethic, going to Holy Communion makes us feel good that we’re doing
something for God and, therefore, we would be free to believe that God
owes us something in return because we have done so much for him!
For the theologically literate, this is nothing but a twist on the
ancient heresy of Pelagianism, the belief that Jesus became the Son of
God―we
might say
“earned it”―because
he gave himself unto death on the Cross in perfect obedience to the
Father. And, we become “God’s children”―we
might say
“earned salvation”―as
we are obedient to the Father.
I personally don’t
care what the rest of the world wants to believe about the Eucharist and
what the polls say that others believe. What I do care about
personally and, I might add, very deeply, is that Catholics understand
more deeply what we believe and allow themselves to be transformed by
it. For Catholics, the Eucharist is not a symbol. No, it is
the true body and blood of Christ. The Eucharist is a living sacrament
that gives us hope, not only that the Lord will be really and truly
present in the bread and wine but that he will be really and truly
present in us and will continue to renew us in holiness as his body and
blood changes and transforms our body and blood into the Eucharist
itself. In this sense, the Eucharist is the meeting place, the
“communion,” between heaven and earth, a grace freely given to us―not
earned―by
God Himself. Catholics desire to receive Christ in Holy Communion so
that he might receive them in Holy Communion.
At the Last Supper,
Jesus told his disciples that he was giving them his Body and Blood.
“Take it; this is my body….This is my blood of the covenant, which will
be shed for many….Do this in memory of me.” Let the theologians debate
what those words mean because there is no argument that Jesus used those
words. As we digest the Eucharist, we become the body and blood of
Christ contributing to the building of a world more fully in harmony
with God’s plan.
Like the Solemnity
of Pentecost two weeks ago which challenged us to consider the
indwelling of the Holy Spirit in our souls and the Solemnity of the Holy
Trinity last week which challenged us to consider how our relationships
witness our Trinitarian faith, this Sunday’s Solemnity of the Body and
Blood of Christ challenges us to ponder the awesome depths of this great
mystery of our faith. The body and blood of Christ are not symbols.
No, they are a living treasure that Christ has entrusted to us. As
Catholics, we must avoid at all costs trivializing the Eucharist and
rendering it irrelevant by denying its essential character. It is this
living reality―the
Sacrament of the Eucharist―that
awakens in us the profound sense of awe in the mystery not only of what
the Eucharist is but of what its profound effects can be in our daily
lives as Jesus’ disciples.
As we ponder the
grace Jesus offers us in the gift of his Body and Blood, we must not
forget that in the Eucharist he also gave us the pledge of his eternal
presence. And, as we do this in his memory and as we receive his true
body and blood in the form of bread and wine, the Lord invites us to
experience anew the pledge of his faithfulness to be with us “until the
end of the age.” |
HOMILY
