God's Faithful Messengers, not Public Relations Officers

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Our Lord wins admiration throughout the land except in His own town. You would expect that His fellow townsfolk would be exhilarated and would have given Him a hero’s welcome to fete His accomplishments and fame, the very fame that had made His hometown famous - He’s not just Jesus but Jesus of “Nazareth”. The small insignificant town could never have made it into the big leagues without the help of their most celebrated son. But instead, He encounters failure and rejection. Saint Mark poignantly notes: “And they would not accept him.”

That Sabbath, as was His custom in other towns, our Lord begins to teach in the synagogue. His townspeople were “astonished” when they heard Him but their astonishment was not one of admiration as in the other places. Here, it took the form of incredulity. In their minds, our Lord was just “one of the guys”, nothing extraordinary about Him, in fact their familiarity with Him and His family led to a sort of contempt. Their disdain for Him even suggests that our Lord was only fit for the carpenter’s job, that He had been associated with. He could not amount to anything more. And so, they asked, “Where did the man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been granted him, and these miracles that are worked through him?” These questions did not reveal a sincere search for the truth but rather betrayed their indignant scepticism.

The result of their incredulity seemed to have impacted our Lord’s power. But it is not that our Lord lost the power to perform miracles in their midst. Their lack of faith was the real problem and the obstacle. It would have prevented them from seeking out the Lord to ask for a favour. If they have a roof to mend or a furniture to make, then the obvious choice was to look for Jesus, the carpenter, the Son of Mary. But if they were looking for a miracle, Jesus would be the last candidate on the list. If they are always looking out for the faults and shortfalls of the other, they will be prevented from recognising the action of God even if this was to take place before their eyes.

What are some lessons which we can take away from this disturbing story, a story which seemed to show up the powerlessness of our Lord?

First, our Lord shows us that it is okay to fail but it is not okay to give up. The fact is, every wonderful invention, every widely held positive belief turned into positive action, is the direct result of someone who did not give up. It’s also a fact that you’re going to fail once in a while, no matter how hard you try not to fail. Everybody fails. Yes, everybody, including our Lord in His hometown. The important thing is how you respond to your failure. Our Lord refused to be beaten, to be cowed into submission, to be discouraged and pushed back to His old life, a carpenter living in anonymity. He understood that what seems to be failure, may actually be victory and success. This is what happened at the cross.

Second, our Lord shows us that the true measure of success is not public approval, it has nothing to do with what people think of you. If everyone of us allows other’s opinion to shape us, we will no longer have any firm bearing or direction. Our Lord’s life shows us that the true measure of our worth, is not determined by success or public opinion but by our fidelity to the Father’s Will. We should only be concerned with doing the Father’s Will, even if that means receiving mockery, rejection and opposition from others, including our loved ones and closest friends.

Third, the story teaches us that knowing something about someone does not mean we know everything about the person. How often have we been guilty of sizing up someone, putting them into a box, dismissing their potential and drawing lasting conclusions about their true worth? Let us be honest. Many of us have done that, and repeatedly still do it. Dismissing someone whom we do not like may have dire consequences. We could be turning our back on God who is using this person to speak to us.

At baptism, you have received a share in the triple munera of Christ as priest, prophet and king. A priest is meant to worship, a prophet is meant to speak and a king is meant to lead. When we abdicate these roles in our daily lives, we are turning our backs on our baptismal identity and the call of Christ to be His representatives on earth. Admittedly, being a prophet and to live and speak prophetically is never easy. To stand against the world of denial is an extremely lonely occupation and it leaves many isolated from society and without honour in their own family. But remember - a prophet is only despised in his own country. Christ, possibly more than any other prophet, knew this. And it is in Him that we would find our model and inspiration. A prophet doesn’t take his cue or directions from his audience. He takes it from God.

In Christ’s life, we come to learn that it is okay to fail, but not okay to give up; that the true measure of success in our vocation is not public acceptance but fidelity to God’s plans; and finally, that we should never be too quick and arrogant to boast of our knowledge, for when we are so conditioned and limited by what we think we know, we will never be truly open to what God wishes to reveal to us. At the end of the day, we are called to be God’s faithful messengers, and not the public relations spokesmen with a human agenda.

All Lives Matter

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Recently, we were warned by the public health authorities that the current spike of new infections has placed an unprecedented enormous toll on health facilities and personnel that may be pushing our doctors to make the most painful decision - Sophie’s Choice - deciding who gets the treatment and who doesn’t - which ultimately translates into choosing who gets to live and who has to die. So, what sort of criteria is being used? Would the decision be made on a first-come, first-served basis? Should we prioritise the severely ill over the less serious patients? Should we reserve our resources for those who have a better chance to live? None of us want to be in the shoes of the person who has to make these choices. None of us would want to play God. And every one of us would want to be the person who is given a second chance.

Our Lord seems to have been placed in a similar difficult spot, when He is forced to choose between the young twelve-year old girl who is dying and the older woman who had been suffering for twelve years. These little details are deliberately mentioned to show that these two stories are mirror images of each other. If you were given a choice to attend to the needs of only one of them, who would you choose? The younger woman who is in a more life-threatening situation and has a longer life ahead of her, or the older woman who had suffered pain, humiliation and alienation for twelve years, and it would be unbearably cruel to allow her to suffer a second longer? But being the Lord, He chooses both and He chooses life over death.

This lengthy passage forms what scholars sometimes call a ‘sandwich’: St Mark is particularly keen on putting one story inside another; as today, the story of the woman with the haemorrhage is the filling and the story of the raising of the official’s daughter, the bread. The two are juxtaposed in order to help interpret one another. What the two stories have in common, over and above being examples of the divine power at work in Jesus, is that not only some lives matter but both lives matter, in fact all lives matter in the eyes of God. One life is not more important, nor more valuable, than the other.

The story does not merely show that our Lord was concerned with all lives, young or old, a foetus in the womb or a fully grown adult, sick or healthy, Jew or Gentile, man or woman, Saint or sinner, but He had come not just to address our physical ailments and restore us to health but He was keener in giving us life in abundance, an antidote to death. What He did for the little girl was a prelude to what He was planning to do for all of us - the resurrection of the body. As the first reading reminds us, “death was not God’s doing. He takes no pleasure in the extinction of the living.” Neither does our Lord take pleasure in our suffering or death.

Indeed, death connects the interlocking stories of Jairus’ daughter and the woman. Both supplicants know they face the immediacy of death. Yet, their encounter with our Lord culminates in victory over death. The woman suffering the chronic illness, an illness that would probably have led to her death, is healed. The resuscitation of Jairus’ daughter also proves that the Lord does not only have power over sickness that may lead to death, He also has the power to overcome death and wrest its victims back from the grave.

For Christians, though, it's not always easy to encourage life around us. We live in a culture that doesn't foster life but anti-life. St John Paul II, in his writings and preaching, have constantly placed a spotlight on what he calls the culture of death - it is a culture where choices once unanimously considered criminal and rejected by the common moral sense (like abortion or euthanasia) are gradually becoming socially acceptable.

On the one hand, we fear life. Children are seen as a burden. They get in the way of our careers, our ambitions. They make a mess of our bodies, our homes, and our lives. People with disabilities scare us because we don't want them to put pressure on our resources. On the other hand, we also fear death just as much as we fear life. The thought of visiting a terminally ill or an ageing person paralyses us. Mercy killing is a euphemism created by modern society to soften the reality of what it is in reality – murder. We claim that it is an act of mercy, that we are putting someone out of his misery and not wishing to prolong his suffering, but the truth is that, it is another convenient way to unload another burden. We can’t bare the inconvenience and pain of supporting another person who is in pain, and so we choose to remove them from our sight. If Pope St John Paul II was renowned for highlighting the danger of the culture of death, Pope Francis frequently speaks about a “throwaway culture” in which unwanted items and unwanted people, such as the unborn, the elderly, and the poor, are discarded as waste.

This is the reason why it is incumbent on all Catholics to promote and foster a culture of life, that all life should be considered sacred from the moment of its conception till death, that a person is to be valued as a person for who he or she is, a creature of God, and not by what he or she owns, does or can produce. To transform our culture into one which respects and defends human life, it is necessary to speak of a deeper and a greater truth: All human life is sacred. God is its author. We do not own it.

Each of us has gifts to bring to this challenge. Each of us has a responsibility to help bring about a culture of life. No one is exempt. We are asked to teach persuasively on behalf of unborn children and the elderly, and defend their rights because this is where today's struggle is most costly in human lives. Being indifferent, walking past and refusing to stop, ignoring the pleas of desperation are never options. Although we cannot save every person from the ravages of sickness or death, we can save every soul by leading them to Christ who alone can save them, body and soul. In the Nicene Creed, God the Holy Spirit is referred to as “The Lord and Giver of Life.” Only He is able to truly create the miracle of life. Only God can restore us not just to health but to the resurrected life. But we can share with Him as He works, affirming it in others and fighting for life where we see death and decay in our hearts and in our world, because “all lives matter”, and not just whenever it is convenient.

Let us cross over to the other side

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Our story begins with an invitation from the Lord: “Let us cross over to the other side!” This shouldn’t be a problem at all if you are convinced that the grass is greener on the other side, or you possess an exploratory spirit and every adventure is a moment of serendipity. But I guess most of us are not wired this way. We would rather stick with the tried and tested. We are not sure if the other side would be rife with danger or the crossing may prove to be perilous too. The familiar, on the other hand, offers no surprises. This may be why change is often resisted, risks avoided and why we would often wait for others to take the initiative.

Today, our Lord is inviting His disciples to cross this barrier of water. The sea itself shouldn’t have been that formidable since a number of His Apostles were themselves seasoned fishermen. They should have been in their element. But there is more to this. The sea or lake of Galilee served as a natural boundary between its Western and Eastern shores. To its East, we have pagan territory, the land of unclean livestock and violent demoniacs. To the West, we have the predominantly, albeit nominally, Jewish territory. Strangely, this so-called Jewish territory was not immune to demonic activity. Demons do not discriminate between Jews and Gentiles, both are fair game for the diabolical. Although both populations shared much in common in terms of language and culture, the Jewish rules of ritual separation ensured that the religious boundaries were meticulously guarded to prevent any casual crossing.

But then our Lord issues this command to His disciples, “Let us cross over to the other side!” The comfortable status quo is challenged. The Church will not be limited by these human barriers nor will she be defined by any sectarian divisions. In response to Rudyard Kipling’s claim in his poem, “Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,” we Christians sing a very different tune as we proclaim that, “in Christ, there is no East or West.”

But the crossing would not be easy as demonstrated by the squall that overtook the party as they crossed the lake in their boat. The powerful storm at sea could be a symbol for the disciples’ resistance to cross over. It is so much easier to remain safely on the shore, on the familiar and comfortable side, rather than risk capsizing and drowning in the midst of crossing. We cling tenaciously to the known, and choose familiarity over risk. Just like the disciples, we cry out to God in fear and desperation: “Master, do you not care? We are going down!”

Perhaps, what is needed is a reality check from the Lord. Our Lord speaks these words with authority: “Quiet now! Be calm!” I’ve often wondered whether He was addressing the winds and the waves, which was unnecessary since He is Lord of the winds and the waves. But these words could easily have been addressed to His disciples in response to their childish and cowardly whining. Likewise, when we complain to God to save us, our Lord may be telling us, “Quiet now! Be calm!”, which is not only a rebuke but a consoling assurance that He is in charge. Our Lord is asking us: “Why are you so frightened? How is it that you have no faith?”

So, what could the turbulent waters in our lives look like? Here are some possibilities.

Change, and the fear of change and commitment may be a frequent storm for many. Clinging to our comfort zones, to what makes us feel cosy and secure may be the greatest obstacle to discipleship and following of Christ. When we fear stepping out or stepping up to a mission entrusted to us, we are practically telling the Lord, “It is too difficult! I’d rather remain on this side of the shore.” Many would choose safe anonymity over being in the blazing spotlight of leadership. When our Lord called on the first disciples, He was asking them to leave everything behind, to deny themselves and to take up their cross in imitation of Him. The gospel story would have turned out differently if the disciples had hesitated and chosen to hold on to their current security. There will be no Church. We will not be here.

Many fear the crossing because they fear failure, which is actually a fear of negative public opinion. When we are so conditioned by what others think of us, we do not have the courage to take risks. We will always choose the safe path, the path of least resistance and minimal difficulty. But our Lord routinely crossed barriers that made Him unpopular. Our Lord ate with the wrong people, talked to the wrong people, and often did the wrong things. He routinely upset the religious establishment by loving people that were off-limits. He did all these because He was guided by the Father’s will and His love for the people.

Finally, in an environment which is deeply polarised, it is almost impossible for persons on either side of the aisle to cross the divide. Enmity raises barriers which prevent crossing. It is so much easier for us to keep our enemies at a distance. But our Lord invites us, “Let us cross over to the other side!” He is inviting us to go beyond our pride – to reach across the aisle and offer forgiveness and seek reconciliation. Saint Augustine gave a similar interpretation of our gospel passage. He wrote: “when you are insulted, that is the wind. When you are angry, that is the waves. So, when the wind blows and the waves surge, the boat is in danger, your heart in jeopardy, your heart is tossed to and fro. On being insulted, you long to retaliate. But revenge brings another kind of misfortune - shipwreck. Why? Because Christ is asleep in you. What do I mean? I mean you have forgotten Christ. Rouse Him, then remember Christ, let Christ awake within you, give heed to Him.” So, if you wish to overcome the barriers of hostility, you need to awaken Christ within you.

As much as it seems safe to remain in our secure comfort zone and do nothing, this will not lead to salvation. If we wish to follow the Lord, we must be willing to “cross over to the other side.” The true antidote to enmity and the fear of earthly dangers, inconveniences and public humiliation is the fear of the Lord, the reverent awe of a God who is master of the winds and the waves, and every storm in our lives. “He who fears the Lord is never alarmed, never afraid” (Sirach 34:14). The crossing from this side to the other side may seem impossible. But with Christ in the boat, we know that the journey will be possible. The “others” from the other shore are waiting for you to cross over. The “other” could be a stranger or an enemy or your worst fear. And though we may be wary of the reception we will get or the risks that we would have to face, our Lord persists with His invitation: “Let us cross over to the other side!” Let us trust Him. Let us follow Him. Let us take the first step in faith in heeding His call.

God is still in charge

Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

This entire year has plunged many into an existential crisis. Plans have been disrupted, some even cancelled, anxiety levels have escalated as we struggle to comprehend and navigate a future that remains uncertain. One thing that many have learnt during this year is that, we are not in charge. Before this, we had bought into the myth that through hard work and a can-do (Malaysia Boleh) attitude, we can control our own lives. We can master our own destiny, captain our own ship, and set a course for the future. But we’ve realised that control is an illusion. The good news is that God is still in charge. You just need to get out of the way.

Today’s gospel treats us to two parables instead of one: the parable of the growing seed and the parable of the mustard seed. You may have heard it explained to you that parables are short stories which our Lord likes to tell His audience and how we wished that all our priests would confine their homiletic material to similar anecdotal wonders, instead of meandering off into some inexplicable theological maze where everyone gets lost. This is the popularly held view. But though their content seems simple and the message simpler still, they actually do contain something far more profound. That is why the learned of Jesus’ time often found difficulty in comprehending His message and why our Lord had to explain the meaning of these stories to His own disciples, who should have known better.

Pope Emeritus Benedict explains that through parables, our Lord “shows how the divine light shines through in the things of this world and in the realities of our everyday life.” The whole of creation is a revelation of God’s mysteries, for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear. I’m reminded of the words of Elizabeth Barret Browning who wrote:

“Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God,

But only he who sees takes off his shoes;

The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”

The Greek word “parabole” means juxtaposing, placing side by side, making a comparison. And that is basically how we learn. We compare things that we already know with new things that we are getting to know. On the surface, the parables are simple enough for a child to understand. They make spiritual realities accessible by conveying them in concrete images, instead of theoretical abstractions. But paradoxically, these parables have a mysterious dimension, a hidden depth of meaning that is not always easy to grasp and that comes to light only upon thoughtful, open-minded and faith-filled reflexions. Therefore, the parables both conceal and reveal the mystery of the kingdom, depending on the disposition of the hearer. More importantly, parables elicit a response. We cannot remain neutral in the face of a parable, they are not just nice stories to be enjoyed, but they provoke thought and challenges the listener to a decisive response to our Lord and His message. You will either love Him or hate Him.

Let us consider the first parable in today’s passage. This is a parable which is only found here in Saint Mark’s gospel. Unlike the more familiar parable of the Sower and the Seeds which focuses on the different kinds of soil, this parable highlights the intrinsic power of the seed. The sower in this parable literally scatters his seeds and then goes about his daily routine with little care for “how his garden grows.” He has such confidence in the power of his seed that he doesn’t seem to fret over the outcome of his planting. Slowly, imperceptibly, the seed begins to sprout. For the man in the story, life is a mystery as our Lord explains, “Night and day, while he sleeps, when he is awake, the seed is sprouting and growing; how, he does not know.” The man does not know how it is happening, neither is he in control of the process. He understands that God is ultimately in control and he just needs to get out of the way.

With this parable, our Lord explains that the Kingdom of God is a divine work, not a human achievement. God brings about its growth, which at times is imperceptible. Sometimes we grow impatient and we attempt to hurry things along, but our efforts can never determine the time and condition of the final outcome which is in the hands of God. We can only cooperate, but we cannot control or hasten the arrival of the Kingdom by our efforts, any more than the farmer can harvest his grains at a time of his own choosing. The lesson is that we should place less confidence in our own ingenuity, efforts or machinations, but more in the Lord. Saint Paul wrote, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God caused the growth. Therefore, neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who causes the growth” (1 Cor 3:6-7). The parable serves as an encouragement for those who think their efforts are fruitless, and a warning for those who think they can bring about the kingdom by their own programmes.

The next parable is more familiar - it is the parable of the mustard seed. Because the Kingdom is a divine reality and not a humanly engineered utopia, it cannot be defined or contained in human categories. It can only be understood by using analogies that force the listener to think and ponder at a deeper level.  In this second parable, the emphasis is on the smallness of the mustard seed. A mustard seed is insignificant in comparison to the glorious kingdom. The contrast is meant to be a hyperbole, a literary exaggeration, e.g. “I’m so hungry I could eat an entire horse.”  And so, “the smallest of all the seeds on earth,” when “sown it grows into the biggest shrub of them all and puts out big branches so that the birds of the air can shelter in its shade.” The outcome is also another hyperbole because a mustard plant can never grow into a huge tree. This tree sounds like the cosmic tree spoken of by the prophets (Daniel 4:10-12 and Ezekiel 31:6). This tree signifies the new heavens and new earth, it points to the resurrected life of the age to come. And it all starts with a mustard seed. The growth of the kingdom will not be due to human efforts but entirely driven by God’s hidden power.

So, back to the question: “who’s in charge?” If there is one thing this pandemic has taught us, is that we are not in charge. As long as we hold onto our illusion, we are setting ourselves up for a major disappointment – we will continue to be fearful and anxious. When we choose to trust God, though, He transforms us into people who find our strength and our confidence in Him rather than in ourselves.

The parables are also important reminders that the growth of the kingdom can be hard to trace, detect, or measure. So many grow impatient and despondent when they are unable to detect any significant or visible change. But God often works quietly and in a hidden manner, but His hand remains firmly on the wheel. This is the paradox of Christ’s kingdom—a mysterious mix of visibility and hiddenness, glory and humility, power and weakness. But why is this the paradox of the kingdom?  Because this paradox matches Christ’s cross. He had to appear defeated in order to be victorious. He accepted humiliation at the moment of His glorification. He had to die in order to win for us eternal life. And though it may seem, that His enemies were in control, He was, is now and will always be in control. So, don’t be deceived into thinking that God is doing nothing about the mess that we are in. He is doing something and He is always in charge. Let us just stop whining, stay out of the way and let Him do His job.

Truly, Really, Substantially Present

The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ

Two weeks ago, we celebrated the Solemnity of the Pentecost. And as our Lord had promised, the Holy Spirit is given to the Church, to us, so that we can be led to the complete Truth. Before the Apostles received the Holy Spirit, much of what our Lord had taught them remained a fuzzy mystery. They not only struggled in their understanding but also in their faith. But with the coming of the Spirit of Truth, their understanding and imagination were now expanded beyond their natural capacity.

Beginning with last Sunday, the Church invites us to contemplate a series of the most profound mysteries of faith. Last Sunday, we contemplated the central mystery of our faith - the Most Holy Trinity - One God in three distinct persons - a mystery which is bigger than the universe and escapes rationalising by even the most erudite geniuses on this earth. But the mysteries of faith do not only come in mega cosmic proportions like the dogma of the Holy Trinity; they can also be found in the seemingly unimpressive and mundane objects of our world. This week, we are asked to focus on something equally baffling, though tangible at the same time. It is the Most Holy Eucharist - that is our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ fully present, truly, really, substantially, body and blood, soul and divinity in the Holy Eucharist.

The real presence takes the human mind to the very limits of its capacity. After the consecration, the priest at every Mass proclaims that the Eucharist is a mysterium fidei, a mystery of faith. In the end we have to acknowledge that the mystery is ineffable and should be greeted with wonder and amazement. It is a truth that only the mind of God can fully understand. Nevertheless, God in His love has revealed this truth to us. God has not revealed Himself simply to mystify us, but to save us. “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you.” (John 6:52).

The Church accepts the real presence as a matter of faith, because it is contained in the Word of God, as attested by Scripture and tradition. Our Lord said clearly as we had heard in today’s gospel, “This is my body ... this is my blood”, and in the controversy surrounding His teachings on the Bread of Life, He insisted that He was not just using metaphors. “My flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him”. (Jn 6: 55-56) Many of the disciples found this saying difficult to accept and chose to part company with Him, but our Lord refused to revise His audacious claims to win them back. The Fathers and Doctors of the Church have confidently proclaimed the real presence century after century, notwithstanding objections and misconceptions. The Council of Trent defended this belief against the incredulity of the Protestants and gave a full exposition of the Catholic doctrine of the Eucharist and that of the Real Presence.

In describing Christ’s presence in this sacrament, the Council of Trent used three adverbs, “truly, really, and substantially”. These three adverbs are the keys that help us understand and explain the nature of Christ’s Eucharistic Presence. They may appear to be repetitive and superfluous, but each adverb takes us beyond another layer of truth.

“Truly” is a common word often used by the Lord in the Fourth Gospel. It translates from the Hebrew “Amen.” In saying that Christ is truly contained under the Eucharistic species, the Council repudiated the Protestant argument. The Eucharist is not a mere sign or figure pointing to a body that is absent, perhaps somewhere in the heavens. Christ’s body and blood are “truly”, not symbolically nor figuratively present in the consecrated bread and wine.

Secondly, the presence is real. That is to say, it is objectively real. It is objective because it does not depend on the thoughts or feelings of the minister or the communicants. The body and blood of Christ are present in the sacrament because of the promise of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit, by the words and actions of a duly ordained minister. In so teaching that the presence is “real,” the Church rejects the view that faith is the instrument that brings about Christ’s presence in the sacrament. Faith does not make Christ present. Christ is present when the priest speaks the word of consecration over the bread and wine. But faith is needed if we want Christ’s presence to bear fruit within us. To receive the sacrament without faith is unprofitable, even sinful, but the lack of faith does not render the presence unreal. To put it simply, Christ being present in the Eucharist does not depend on you or your feelings. But how the Eucharist affects you, depends on you. So, if you see no changes in yourself after attending Mass and receiving Holy Communion, don’t blame Christ. You have only yourself to blame.

Thirdly, the Church teaches us that Christ’s presence in the sacrament is substantial. “Substance” denotes the basic reality of the thing, i.e., what it is in itself. For example, I am in substance a human being, a man. The white grainy stuff which I eat every day is substantially rice. Although appearances may change, for example water can take various forms (it can be solid as in ice, gaseous as in steam or fluid), its substance remains the same – it is still water but under different forms. Water is “transformed.” But what happens at the consecration is different. After consecration, the bread and wine are changed; but not “transformed” in the sense that the consecrated species will still look like and taste like, bread and wine. But there is a substantial change in that they cease to be what they were and become what they were not. The consecrated bread may still look like bread and taste like bread, likewise with the wine, but they are no longer bread and wine. They are now Christ’s body and blood in substance. The Church has coined the unique term “transubstantiation” to designate this process.

Although the mystery of the real presence certainly stretches our powers of comprehension to the utmost, just like the dogma of the Most Holy Trinity, it is not simply a puzzle meant to test us or condemn us to eternal confusion. Rather, it is a consoling sign of the love, power, and ingenuity of our Divine Saviour. He willed to bring Himself into intimate union with Christians, and to do so in a way that suits our nature as embodied spirits; beings needing both physical nourishment for our survival, and spiritual refreshment for eternal life.

Finally, the Eucharist instituted by Christ invites us to look in two directions - to call to mind the crucifixion of Christ, who shed His blood for our redemption and to prefigure the everlasting banquet of the blessed in the heavenly Jerusalem. The Eucharist has the singular power to recapture the past, transform the present, and anticipate the future because it contains the Lord of history truly, really, and substantially, body and blood, soul and divinity.