19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

          “I am the living bread that comes 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.” 

If we are somewhat taken aback or confused or even scandalized by what Jesus is saying in this [second] installment of the “bread of life discourse” from John’s Gospel, we should not feel alone.  Apparently, so were those who listened to Him that day in the synagogue in Capernaum almost two-thousand years ago.  This included, I expect, the Pharisees and the scholars of the law, the leading religious authorities of Jesus’ time and His usual rivals, but also probably many good Jews just trying to make sense of what this rabbi from Nazareth was saying.  Likely, Jesus’ closest disciples, “the Twelve,” were also greatly perplexed, if not themselves scandalized by these statements.

And yet, it always strikes me that Jesus never backs down from or tries to soften His message when it is apparent that the people, and perhaps even His closest friends, are having trouble with this.  In fact, two weeks from now, when we hear the conclusion of this “bread of life discourse,” we will hear that many of Jesus’ disciples who were listening that day will say, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?”  And they will walk away.  They will stop following Jesus over this.

And so this is truly a “watershed” teaching.  Just as rain comes down on the roof of a house and either flows one way or the other, so it seems that those who hear this teaching of Jesus either accept it or reject it.  So, where are we on this?  I cannot claim to know where any of you individually, personally may be on this, but I can at least remind you where the Church, in her teaching office, is on this.  The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy of the Second Vatican Council puts it this way:  “Christ is present in the sacrifice of the Mass, not only in the person of his minister…but especially (or in unique way) under the Eucharistic species.”  And by this terminology (“Eucharistic species”) is meant the consecrated bread that has become Christ’s Body and the consecrated wine that has become His Blood.

This is the only way to make sense of all of the reverence we pay to the “Eucharistic species” or the “Blessed Sacrament” – kneeling, genuflecting, adoring even, and receiving this great gift (hopefully) with the proper disposition of heart and always with great care.  As the saying goes, “As the Church prays, so she also believes.”  If this sacrament is not in fact the flesh of Christ given for the life of the world as Jesus says, then, frankly, why all the fuss?

And this is by no means a modern interpretation of this teaching.  We can read this affirmed in Saint Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, written sometime around the year 56, in his recounting of the Lord’s supper and in his admonition not to “eat the bread or drink the cup of Lord unworthily,” but to “examine oneself” before partaking of this gift. 

We can read Saint Ignatius of Antioch, writing in the early 2^nd century about how “[unbelievers] abstain from Eucharist…because they do not confess that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ,” or Saint Justin Martyr, writing sometime in the middle of the 2^nd century, saying, “Not as common bread or common drink do we receive these; but…the food which has been made into the Eucharist by the Eucharistic prayer…is both the flesh and blood of that incarnated Jesus.”  This teaching has been affirmed and reaffirmed by the hierarchy of the Church, by theologians and simple believers alike down through the ages.

On a personal level, the earliest memory I have of my own understanding that there was something different about this “bread” that we receive in the Eucharist, was in my preparation for my first Communion.  I remember sometime before the “big day,” we were allowed to taste an unconsecrated host and to take a small sip of the unconsecrated wine.  I’m sure this was just to help us know what to expect, and, frankly, so that we wouldn’t make a weird face the first time we tasted that dry, tasteless host or wince at the first taste of that bitter wine.  But I remember our teacher making a big deal of telling us, “Now this looks just the same and tastes just the same as what you will receive at your first Communion, but it’s not the same.”  Huh?  She explained, “This is just bread and wine, but when you have your first Communion it will be Jesus’ Body and Blood.”

Without having to go into the theology of “transubstantiation” or Aristotelian categories of “substance” and “accidents” (what a thing is versus what it appears to be), I knew even in my seven year old brain that there was something different about what I was receiving that night at our practice and what I would receive the morning of my first Holy Communion.  I didn’t totally understand it, but I believed it, at least at a very basic level.  To be honest, I still don’t completely understand it, and I think anyone who claims to fully understand this this side of heaven is either lying or arrogant.  It is after all a mystery, but “mystery” in the sense of a profound truth revealed by God that, like those listening to Jesus in the synagogue that day in Capernaum, we either accept in faith or reject.

But this “mystery” is not only to be believed.  It is also to be lived.  Yes, the Church prays what she believes, but she is also called to live what she prays and believes.  Somehow this bread that becomes Christ’s flesh for the life of the world is to be made flesh in us – as a kind of extension of Christ’s incarnation and an extension of the Eucharist.  And so, how might this be accomplished?  How might we become in some sense Christ’s flesh for the life of the world?  How might we become in some sense Eucharist? 

Perhaps it is in first recognizing the gift of our own bodies – both in terms of our life and health, but also in terms of our sexuality –by living the virtue of chastity.  It is in taking care never to look upon or treat others as objects, but always as persons made in the image and likeness of God, avoiding those traps that we know are there and are more accessible than ever; choosing the good rather than caving to basest of our carnal desires.  Jason Evert, a popular Catholic speaker and author on issues of chastity, especially among youth and young adults, has this great line about pornography.  He says, in effect, that pornography is the “anti-Eucharist,” because the Eucharist says, “This is my body given for you” (which, if you think of it is really a kind of marriage vow), but pornography says, “This is your body taken for me.”

Or perhaps we become Christ’s flesh for the life of the world through appropriate mortification.  This not a word we hear or use much anymore, and for many it only conjures of up visions of medieval monks scourging themselves bloody or inflicting other similarly drastic punishments upon themselves.  But just getting out of bed when that alarm goes off instead of hitting the “snooze” nine times is a mortification.  Passing occasionally on that second helping or on dessert is a mortification.  Exercise is a mortification.  Ever since I volunteered to be a “guinea pig” for a senior kinesiology student for a class last spring semester I have been trying to exercise more regularly.  I have to admit, I don’t really like it.  At least not usually as I am going about my exercises.  Some days I down right hate it.  But it occurred to me one day at the gym that physical exercise is, in a way, the opposite of sin.  Whereas sin almost always feels good in the moment, but never feels good after, exercise almost never feels good while you’re doing it, but always feels good after.  And the benefit we receive from exercise and other appropriate forms of mortification, is not only better physical health so that we might better serve God and neighbor, but also (and maybe more importantly) discipline of the will.

Perhaps our becoming Christ’s flesh for the life of the world is best realized in direct service to our neighbor, especially to the poor and the vulnerable.  Instead of just writing that check to the local food pantry, soup kitchen, homeless shelter or that cause that we are passionate about, maybe we actually go and volunteer.  Perhaps we literally stand up against injustice through peaceful protest or we support someone or a just cause by our very physical presence.  In these ways, we not only put our “money where our mouth is,” so to speak, but we put our bodies “on the line” for the sake of charity and justice.  At least these are a few ways I think that we might be Christ’s flesh for the life of the world, that we might be in some sense Eucharist, broken and given for others.

Yes, our Lord’s teaching in the bread of life discourse is hard, maybe even scandalous.  But if embraced, there is nothing more beautiful, life-giving or fruitful.  And so, let’s pray this mystery.  Let’s believe this mystery.  Let’s live this mystery.  “The bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.”