In the end, the Jewish followers of Jesus – himself a Jew – were asking the wrong question.
Certainly the question was understandable. What Jesus said was, in fact, shocking. He literally stands there and tells them that his flesh is true food and his blood true drink.
As Catholics, we’re so used to hearing that statement that we almost don’t give it a second thought. Of course, Jesus is the bread of life whose flesh and blood become our food for the journey.
But what must that sound like to non-Catholics? To little 8-year-olds preparing for First Communion who hear that expression for the first time? How does that statement hit you when you take in the reality of what Jesus is saying?
Our Savior is literally making himself the substance we need to live, both here and in the hereafter. His glorified Body and Blood hidden under the veil of bread and wine are given to us at every Sacrifice of the Mass.
In one sense, it’s understandable that they ask “How?” How can you give us your flesh and blood, Lord? They asked the same question when manna was offered to their ancestors in the desert: How is this possible?
But again, it’s the wrong question to be asking. The “how” of it is actually an easy answer:
How does he give us his flesh to eat? He’s God, that’s how. Either God can do such a thing or He’s not God. End of story.
The better question to have asked – both for the Jews of Jesus’ day and for us as well – is not how but why? Why would Christ do such a thing?
The answer that keeps coming back to me every time I ponder it: Love. A love unlike anything else we could even begin to imagine.
Let’s face it: there are such beautiful expressions of love between and among human beings: the intimate married love between spouses that brings forth life; the love of a mother who feeds her newborn with her very milk; the love a friend, soldier or stranger who will sacrifice all to save the life of another.
Incredible acts of love that reflect the love of God for us. And yet, when all is said and done, even these most intimate and selfless acts of human love are a mere fraction, a small reflection, of the love of the God who created us, sustains us, and longs for us to be one with Him for all eternity.
God’s love is so voracious … so self-emptying … so complete … that He can’t help but feed us with His very Flesh and Blood.
How? He’s God.
Why? He’s in love with us. He hungers for our love in return.
Paul’s entire point in his letter to the Ephesians – our second reading – is to shake us awake to the reality of the love that awaits us in Christ, in His Presence.
“Make the most of this opportunity, for the days are evil,” says Paul. He’s not wrong: they are rough in many ways. And sad. And difficult. And exhausting.
And what does God do? Time and again, he cries out from the Cross and the Eucharist: “Come to me, all you labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Aren’t you tired – of running from yourself, of drowning in sin, of suffering that doesn’t make sense? Aren’t you tired of the anger, the sadness, the divisions in family and community? Even the happy moments seem somewhat empty sometimes, right?
“Feed on me,” Jesus tells us. Paul actually uses the expression: “Give thanks always for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ in God the Father.”
You know another word for giving thanks in all things? Eucharist.
Be Eucharistic. Feed on Him in order to become His Presence, His love and His heart in the world. Feed on Him in order to give thanks, both in good times and the not-so-great moments. Feed on Him when the Cross is heavy and we’re not sure if we can take another step.
Feed on Him to become a tabernacle walking in this world with His Love flowing in and through you.
That’s not just pious drivel. It’s a reality greater than we can fully comprehend – but nothing is more real than the Presence of God in the Eucharist, a Love beyond all telling that awaits us in this Blessed Sacrament at every Mass, in every chapel of Adoration, and in every tabernacle throughout the world.
Many years ago now, at a period of my life that I was very lost and confused, uncertain of where to go next or what kind of man I wanted to be, I found myself drawn by grace – that’s the only way I can explain it – to my home parish church on a humid summer afternoon.
I slipped silently into the back pew of the quiet, darkened church, and before me on the altar was the Eucharist placed in a monstrance to be adored.
I knew intellectually what was happening; after all, I had been to Adoration before as a Catholic school student. But this day was different: this day, I knelt before the Eucharist and cried out in mind and heart: “I want to believe. I need You to help me. I don’t know if You are even here, but if You aren’t, then where do I turn? I’s so lost, Lord.”
I don’t know how long I stayed that afternoon. A half-hour? Maybe a little more. And I can’t honestly say that I left church that day with every problem solved and feeling totally assured of my faith.
But what I do know is this: Being in His Presence that day began to change me; strengthen me; heal me. Being with Him – even if I wasn’t sure it was Him at that moment in time – had an effect on me. Even if my love was shaky, His wasn’t. Even if I doubted, He stayed and loved me exactly where I was. And that Love changed me. It still does – every time I am here.
Be open to having a real relationship with the Living God who humbles Himself and feeds us with his Flesh and Blood. Keep showing up.
We need not ask ‘how.’ That’s easy. The better question is ‘why?’
And there’s only one answer: that’s exactly what True Love does. Never be afraid to be fed by that Love.