Bodily reality is metaphysical
thoughts for Corpus Christi
On the Solemnity of Corpus Christi we remember the time when many disciples abandoned Our Lord. For St. John, this day is burned into his memory and he would have us know of these events because he would have us know that communion with Christ requires the fullest exchange of our selves laid down in sacrifice. Our Lord does not take on human flesh in order to be an influential teacher; he took on human flesh in order to make sacrifice.
He would make of us a sacred furnace, a funeral pyre to the Heavenly Father, not because the Father demands blood but because he requires the fullest gift we can offer in order to redeem us to the fullest. God would redeem us entirely, not merely so we believe the right things but so that we would be transfigured in love. In our sin, we were unable to make this gift so God, in his tremendous mercy, joined us so at to make the sacrifice for us. This sacrifice, the Body and Blood of Our Lord immolated at the Cross, is our salvation. There is no other way.
We cannot achieve Heaven by believing hard enough, or following the moral law to the best of our ability, or achieving an outward appearance of respectability. In order to be saved, we must unite those efforts to the perfect sacrifice of the Cross and receive the work of Christ as a gift. We must become sacrifice, bleat like lambs on the hilltops.
St. Thomas Aquinas, who composed the Propers for Corpus Christi, refers to salvation as honey from a rock because the rock in the desert had to be broken by Moses before it poured out water. The side of Christ had to be pierced and flow blood and water like the temple disgorging its offerings. We must eat of his flesh and join ourselves to him with the very best effort we can make.
St. Thomas wrote those hymns during a period of theological debate. Many argued the Eucharist is a spiritual reality only. St. Thomas insisted, after much thought and prayer, that the Blessed Sacrament is, in fact, the Body and Blood of Christ. At the words of institution there is a substantial change from bread and wine into the Real Presence of Christ himself. Nothing remains of the bread and wine except the appearances, which is fitting because the glory of God must remain veiled otherwise it is too much for us. Further, he teaches that Christ is present whole and entire under the Eucharistic species, under both the appearances of bread and wine. The miracle is effected by the grace of Christ to keep his promise of always remaining present to us. Even after the Ascension, he has not abandoned us but remains as our High Priest and dispenser of grace. The work of the Cross is continuing to be brought to completion in us in a very real way.
St. Thomas taught all this but was still anxious lest he teach anything wrong. One day in 1273 he was praying in the Dominican chapel of Saint Nicholas in Naples and fell into a mystical vision. Christ came down off the crucifix and spoke, saying "You have written well of me, Thomas. What reward would you have for your labor?" We know this happened because the sacristan, too, heard the voice. St. Thomas did not ask for vindication against his detractors or an infusion of speculative knowledge. Instead he responded, "Nothing but you, Lord.” He would have nothing but Christ, nothing less than the mystical unity of love.
Through the influence of St. Thomas, Catholic theologians and laity began to increasingly accept the dogma of Transubstantiation which had been defined in 1215 at the 4th Lateran Council. The Feast of Corpus Christi, which developed after a Eucharistic miracle, became more and more popular. Because of the heroic work of St. Thomas and the unambiguous teaching of the Church, many followers once again abandoned Christ.
They had lost sight of the fact that, if Christ is not united to us bodily, then our salvation is lost. They had overly intellectualized, abstracted, and subsequently emotionalized the faith. In the wake of the rejection of the dogma of transubstantiation, a great iconoclastic fervor surged through the schismatic groups, culminating in the protestant reformers who pulled down altars, smashed statues, and whitewashed the inside of churches they’d seized. Christ had been separated from his body and so, in their opinion, had no reflection of glory in physical creation. The poetic had been chased away, and with it our connection to transcendent grace. All this could have been avoided by attending to the clear, unambiguous words of Our Lord and the warning of St. John.
Bodily reality is metaphysical.
We accept Christ whole and entire or we lose him entirely. He is the mediator between two worlds, joining them into a unity as the one spills over into the other and remakes it. All of creation is ordered towards the Eucharist. Creation is yearning for Christ and our happiness consists in participating in that yearning, submitting to the birth of grace within. It’s a strange thing, to have eternity unfolding with us, we who are bound by time. We hardly know how to speak of it. All we know is that divine love has changed us and we are no longer the people we used to be.
Even this intensity of love is but a foretaste, as Evelyn Waugh writes, “Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; vagabond-language scrawled on gate-posts and paving-stones along the weary road that others have tramped before us; perhaps you and I are…snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us.”
Christ is just around the corner. Chase him anywhere he goes – to the Cross, to his Mother, into eternity and the very heart of the Trinity. He isn’t trying to escape. He’s beckoning us to follow, to come to the Blessed Sacrament and receive more.
Like all our loves, there’s an element of darkness to it, by which I mean the unknown. To love another person is to commit yourself to that which is out of your control, that which even if it is mysterious is worthy of your sacrifice and attention. But would we have it any other way? Would we prefer a world made small enough to fit into our limited intellect? Is veiled reality defined by the very sacrificial, bodily unity of Christ not infinitely more lovable?
Tolkien puts it well when he writes, “Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament … There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth.” All our loves are gathered up into the Eucharist which is the central act of love at the foundation of the universe.
I wonder if this radical, life-altering openness to God is why it’s so tempting to dismiss the Eucharist as a mere sign. It’s frightening to peer behind the veil. The early Christians understood the danger, preparing carefully before receiving, going to confession and fasting. They were eaten by beasts and burned alive because of their commitment to the Eucharist, but were happier for it because they understood that if wheat and wine find their true purpose in becoming the Body and Blood of Christ, we humans find our true purpose in sacramentally joining him in his death and resurrection.
The implications are far-reaching. We receive Our Lord in the Eucharist in order to become sacrifice. Some may abandon him rather than follow his difficult path. “Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way?” asks Pope Benedict XVI, “If we let Christ enter…are we not afraid that He might take something away from us? Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful? Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom?” He answers his own question, “No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing…of what makes life free, beautiful and great…Do not be afraid of Christ! He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything.”
He fed them with the best of wheat, alleluia; and filled them with honey from the rock, alleluia