Dare We Question the Bounty Flowing From the Table of Our Divine Host?

Today is the feast of Corpus Christi or The Body of Christ. It's an occasion within the church year that represents how Jesus has come to fulfill the greatest hunger and thirst for what is most substantial in this life. The Eucharist (Greek for "Thanksgiving) within the mass of the faithful is viewed as the "source and summit" of the Christian life by the church. In other words, the consecrated bread and wine that become the body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ hold the greatest importance and value for his followers. In fact, so important are the symbols of wheat and wine that no church is allowed to substitute any other ingredient such as rice or barley, even if these items more accurately represent what any given culture uses to make its most essential meals with.

During this COVID19 pandemic, masses have only up until this past weekend been unavailable to the faithful. This created a tremendous conundrum for a church that identifies going to mass to receive communion as the essential identifying marks of faithful discipleship. Church leaders began to use phrases like "spiritual communion" and "fasting" since neither priest nor people could gather together. The longer the fast continued, the more honest and spiritually attuned people would have to ask themselves the inconvenient and almost sacrilegious question: Why am I still feeling fed?

I recall my namesake and summon the memory of the Hebrew Daniel who willingly managed to retain his bodily strength amidst the early times of the Babylonian captivity when he elected to forego  the king's rich food and wine that he was supposed to be receiving in order to fully render his duties. Admittedly my use of this story within this context will be alarming for some but hear me out. The chief of the eunuchs was astounded that Daniel and his companions were not diminished but were actually "better in appearance and fatter in flesh" following their vegetarian gambit they opted for in order to be fully faithful to their convictions in following the One true God. In the spirit of this story, I have been asking myself that question posed above for the past year as I have not been attending mass. Did I need to willingly forego receiving the super substantial bread and sacred cup in order to be faithful to my emerging convictions that Jesus would not let me go hungry or perish from thirst?

Viewing the Eucharist in light of the great fast implemented in safety by the church, Sister Mary Jean Traeger of the Springfield Dominican community said this. "We are learning that Eucharist is more expansive than Mass, though both aspects of our faith can and do draw us to the sacramental mystery that God provides. We are learning to comprehend the wondrous gift of God given in forms of bread and wine . . . but also in countless other forms that have called forth our exploration. What she is attesting to is expansive reality of God's ability to feed us. Yes, this God of ours is more an Italian grandmother sliding several more ravioli onto our plate rather than some strict arbiter of portion control. Our God is the God of reckless heaping portions, flowing wine and sweet desserts!

When I was at Blessed Sacrament Parish in Springfield in the late 1990's, I so looked forward to my Friday 5:00 PM hour of Eucharistic Adoration. Off to the side of the main alter was a specially designated prayer room with kneelers and chairs, where the consecrated host was respectfully held within the "luna" (glass moon-like holder) and displayed within the elaborate gold Monstrance (meaning "to make larger"). I likened this experience of sitting before the exposed Host, to being a deep sea diver who slowly emerged from the depths of the work week just finished and up toward the weekend when I would soon worship at mass. Like many other devoted souls, so beloved was the Eucharist that I would hold the gazing in a sacred reverie of love-longing for Jesus, contained therein.

While I still revere the Eucharist, I'm in at different place now. If I could liken the Eucharist to a font of pure spring water bubbling up from the ground, I am no longer content to kneel at the spot of its emergence - though I honor those who do. Gradually my gaze began to shift as I noticed how the water was moving and forming a small stream that seemed to grow in width and depth. Nowadays, I'm splashing like a child in this stream as I eagerly plunge forward to see where it is going. The further downstream I get, the more I see it watering fruit groves and forming small ponds where people and animals gather. I see it racing over the side of a cliff and showering down upon those who celebrate it coming from the high places. I sense if evaporating and moving over deserts faraway by cloud to water a bedouin's fig tree. I see it flood the tiered rice paddies where people move with gladness to plant new crops. Where isn't this water going? Where isn't this food being harvested?