(Twentieth Sunday of the Year
(B): This homily was given on August 19, 2012 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly
[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Twentieth Sunday 2012]
Let me begin my homily by reading
to you a short paragraph which was written by Fr. Robert Barron. (He’s the priest who produced the highly
acclaimed, 10-part series entitled, “Catholicism,” which aired on PBS earlier
this year.) Fr. Barron wrote:
In today’s Gospel from the sixth chapter of John, the Lord
refers to himself as “the living bread that came down from heaven.” His hearers react vigorously against this
claim: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” We shouldn’t judge Jesus’ audience too harshly,
for it would be hard to imagine a saying more theologically objectionable and
frankly more disgusting for a first-century Jew. Throughout the Old Testament, Israelites were
warned against the eating of an animal’s flesh with his blood. Now this rabbi is telling them to eat his own
flesh and blood! One might have expected
Jesus, at this point, to offer a metaphorical, spiritualized interpretation to
his words. Instead he intensifies the realism of his language: “Amen, I say to
you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not
have life within you.” The word used in
the Greek here for “eat” is not “phagein,” which designates the way human
beings consume their food, but rather “trogein,” which designates the manner in
which animals eat, something along the lines of “gnawing.” Jesus is not simply a teacher whose words we
savor. He is an energy, a life-force in
whom we participate. We are not simply
his disciples; we are members of his mystical Body. Consequently, the Eucharist is not simply a
symbol. It is the means by which
Christ’s life becomes our own.
As Catholics we believe some
incredible things, but none more incredible than this: that the Creator of this
vast and complex universe—the powerful, personal Being who knows every molecule
of reality better than we know ourselves—this Being who sees with perfect
clarity all that was, all that is and all that will be until the end of
time—this omniscient and omnipotent God, comes to us within the context of a
meal under the appearances of ordinary food and drink!
No wonder the Jews in today’s
Gospel were astonished! What Jesus said
to them in the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel was astonishing! It was
overwhelming. It was also true, of
course (we know that by faith); but it was definitely not what these men and
women expected to hear.
And yet, from another
perspective, I would maintain that they SHOULD have expected it! If there is a God (and there is!), and if this
God loves us human beings with a perfect love (and he does!), then we should expect him to come to us in a
way that we can receive him. We
should expect him to come to us in a way that respects our human nature—because
he created it.
And what is more human—more
fundamentally human—than eating? What is
more basic to human life as God designed it than sitting down and sharing a
meal with family and friends?
Think of what a meal is when it’s
entered into with the right disposition of mind and heart:
First of all, it’s a time of nourishment. That’s its primary purpose, of course;
without food and drink, we die!
But that’s actually just the
beginning. Yes, a meal is an occasion
for satisfying a bodily need—but it’s also much more.
A meal is a time of conversation; that is to say, it’s a
time for speaking and a time for listening. (If all we do is speak during a meal, the experience will
not be very pleasant, will it? At least
it won’t be very pleasant for everyone else at the table! Listening is crucial.)
A meal is also a time for reflection and for planning. How often during a
meal do we talk about the past and make plans for the future? It happens all the time! It’s a normal part of the experience.
A meal can also be a time for reconciliation and healing. When people want to
renew a friendship after there’s been a conflict between them, they often
“break bread together,” do they not?
A meal is also a time to get to know others. (That’s why when couples are dating they
often go out to restaurants to eat.)
A meal can be a time of teaching and a time of learning.
And for many people it’s when they are most themselves: they
sit down, perhaps after a long day, relax, and are able to be attentive and
present to those around them at the table.
Think, now, about how all these
points relate to the Eucharist:
- The purpose of the sacrificial meal of the Eucharist is to nourish us spiritually. As Jesus said in this Gospel, “My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.”
- The Eucharist is also an occasion for conversation—not with your neighbor in the pew (that comes after Mass!)—but, rather, with the Lord! And it’s a time to speak to him and to LISTEN to him! How many of us make the effort to listen to the Lord after we receive him in the Blessed Sacrament and go back to our pew to pray? We all should.
- After we receive the Eucharist we should also reflect and plan (like we do at other meals): we should reflect on what’s been going on in our life and we should try to discern God’s will for the future.
- Many people don’t realize it, but venial sins can actually be forgiven by a worthy reception of Holy Communion—if a person has true sorrow for those sins in his or her heart. Mortal sins, of course, need to be brought to the sacrament of Confession, but venial sins can be forgiven through the Blessed Sacrament. So this meal, like other meals, provides us with an opportunity for reconciliation—in this case, reconciliation with God.
- The Eucharistic meal also provides us with an opportunity to get to know the Lord in a deeper way, as we open our heart to the graces of the sacrament, and as we reflect after Communion on the word that we heard at Mass. Hence, like other meals, it’s a time for teaching and learning.
- And, finally, when we receive the Eucharist we can be ourselves before the Lord. We don’t have to hide our struggles and concerns and imperfections and fears and burdens. We can—and should—bring all these things to our God in our post-Communion prayer, in order to receive the help we need to deal with them.
It’s certainly understandable
that the Jews in today’s Gospel “went crazy,” so to speak, when Jesus told them
that he would give them his Body and Blood for their spiritual
nourishment. Pardon the pun, but that
was a very tough one for them to swallow.
But if they knew back then what
you all know now after listening to this homily, perhaps at least some of them
would have come to see things differently, understanding that this is exactly
the way we should expect our God to touch our lives: in a human way; in a way
that we can (literally) receive him as finite creatures.
Let me conclude today with one
final point that I feel compelled to mention.
To those of you who doubt God’s love for you, remember the powerful
message of the Eucharist (which I hopefully have brought out in this homily): God loves you so much that he’s not only
willing to share a meal with you; he loves you so much that he’s willing to make himself the meal!
Think about that the next time
you receive him.
