For all of you old Latins out there this feast used to be called Corpus Christi. Back in the day, when I was growing up, St. Rose of Lima Catholic School had a grand procession on Corpus Christi (which was on a Thursday in those days) where we would honor the Blessed Sacrament at a flower-strewn altar with lots of smells and bells. Certainly a right and proper thing to do. However, if you think about it Corpus Christi, the Body of Christ, refers to more than just the Blessed Sacrament. The Body of Christ first referred to the human existence of Jesus. It was Jesus’ body that was baptized in the Jordan, that enjoyed the wine at the wedding feast at Cana, that was anointed with the perfumed oil and dried with hair of the repentant Mary. It was the Body of Christ that was scourged, crowned with thorns, stripped, nailed and crucified. It was the Body of Christ that the Blessed Mother gazed at with love in the manger in Bethlehem and gazed at with horror on Calvary’s hill. And, at the heart of the Pascal Mystery, it was the Body of Christ that rose on Easter Sunday. To understand the Body of Christ in Holy Eucharist we must connect it with the life and mission, with the death and resurrection of Jesus. Of course, the Body of Christ has a third meaning. St. Paul insists that we, the Church, are the Body of Christ. As he says in the letter to the Corinthians: “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.” While we might not look as blessed as Jesus walking the dusty roads of Galilee and no one would imagine we are worthy of the Holy Eucharist yet despite that the Bible insists that we too, we the Church in all of our messiness, are the Body of Christ.
There are three senses of the Body of Christ: the incarnate Jesus, the Holy Eucharist, and the Church. Maybe one way to think of it: the Holy Eucharist is the touch of Jesus transforming us into the Body of Christ. The Eucharist is the link between all that Jesus said and did back then and what we are about today. Because of the Eucharist we have direct access to Jesus. The Church has always insisted that Jesus is Really Present to us whenever we break the bread and share the cup in remembrance of him. We are the Body of Christ because our Eucharist Lord touches us and transforms us into the Body of Christ. The great African bishop, St. Augustine, would hold up the Sacred Elements and say, “Behold, who you are” – you are the Body of Christ. Behold who you are: you have been named and claimed by Jesus. You are beloved children of God who have Jesus as your elder brother. You are precious in the sight of God and no matter what you do God will never stop loving you. You are the embodiment of the kingdom of God that Jesus proclaimed. Behold, who you are.
However, Bishop Augustine wasn’t finished. He would append: “Become who you receive.” “Behold, who you are; become who you receive” was the whole prayer. So, yes, we already have it. We already are blessed beyond belief. We already are the Body of Christ. And yet we know all too well that there are things in us that are distinctly un-Christ-like. We know that we must accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative. We know that we are on the way, still imperfect in our Christian life. The Holy Eucharist, therefore, serves as way bread, as nourishment for the long haul, as strength for the journey. The loving touch of Jesus we experience in Holy Communion transforms us into the Body of Christ, but it also provides a gentle push to become who we are made to be. We are, but we are still becoming.
How do we do that? How do we become who we receive? How do we become the Body of Christ? I was struck by the gospel account from St. Luke of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. Jesus said to the disciples, “Give them some food yourselves.” They have all sorts of excuses on why they can’t do that. The crowd is too large, we only have a little bit, we’re in a deserted place, we don’t have enough money, it’s too late. But Jesus doesn’t listen to the excuses. Give them something yourselves. By trusting in the command of Jesus the disciples found that when they gave their little bit, which seemed very insignificant to them, that it was enough and more than enough.
That is the pattern that we must adopt in order to become who we receive, to become the Body of Christ. We must give our little bit, no excuses. What that little bit is will differ for each one of us. As St. Paul reminds us in another place, the eye is not the hand which is not the feet which is not the mouth. So we all have different functions in the Body of Christ. But in order to become who we receive we must give something of ourselves. Perhaps our time, maybe our forgiveness, or our prayers or our service or our support or our charity or our gratitude or our counsel – what we are to give will be particular to each one of us. But the Gospel suggests that when we give of ourselves that God can take that little bit and transform us into the Body of Christ.
Once upon a time there was a very pious monk living in Tibet. An angel appeared to him and said, “You have been so good, that God wishes to give you a special blessing. What would you like?” The monk thought for a while and said, “I would like to see a vision of heaven and hell.” “Done,” said the angel and whisked him off. “We’ll start with a vision of hell,” said the angel. The monk was very surprised at the vision of hell. It was a beautiful dining room filled long tables piled with mouth-watering food of every variety and description. Sitting on both sides of the tables were the inhabitants of hell. “That is hell,” said the monk. “That looks wonderful.” “Look more closely,” said the angel. Then the monk noticed that each of the diners had ten-foot long chop sticks tied to their hands. Try as they will, they could not lift the food into their mouths. The chop sticks were too long. They were eternally tormented by food they could not eat. “That would be hell,” said the monk. Then the angel took him to heaven. Much to the monk’s surprise the scene looked exactly the same: beautiful dining room, long tables, piles of food, and the diners sitting on both sides of the table. And, also the same were the ten-foot chop sticks lashed to the hands of the diners. Then the monk noticed the difference between heaven and hell. In heaven, the diners did not try to feed themselves with their long chop sticks. Instead, they picked up the food and reached across the table to feed those at the table with them. In that way everyone had their fill of the heavenly food. “Ah,” the monk said, “that is heaven.”
