Sixteen
centuries later we gather here on this feast of Corpus Christi
to do what the Christians of Jerusalem did, what the apostles
did in Jerusalem three centuries before that. We shall do what
the lord commanded:
“take and eat ... take and drink.” today in this gathering,
the first century and the fourth century and the twenty-first
century all come together. The details differ – from the supper
room of the last supper through the church of the resurrection
to Copps coliseum – but the reality is the same.
The
basic reality was expressed, simply and profoundly, by Jesus himself:“this
is my body ... this is my blood.” Incredible words, aren’t
they? Incredible from the first moment our Lord spoke them. Do
you remember that jolting sentence of Jesus when he said: “I
say to you unless you eat the flesh of the son of man and drink
his blood, you have no life in you?” for many of his followers,
this was too much: “this is a hard saying; who can hear it?”
and so they “drew back and no longer followed him.”
That
question which troubled Christ on that occasion has troubled much
of the world ever since: “how can this man give us his flesh
to eat?” How? And despite the best efforts of theologians
through the centuries, in the end we simply fall on our knees
and worship humbly in the hymn of St. Thomas Aquinas:
Ultimately
we take the advice of St. Cyril to the newly baptized and we judge
reality not by what we see and touch and taste, but we judge with
“unwavering faith.” This faith, this real presence of Christ
is the truth which St. Paul “received from the Lord”; and this
is the faith that we express each time we extend our tongue or
our hand: “this is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the
world.”
We
call it the real presence. Christ is present in this Eucharist.
Not that he is not present in our hearts as we gather two or three
present in his name. Not because he is not in the proclaimed
word which we have just heard, the gospel read to us, but rather
because of all the ways in which Jesus is present, the Eucharist
is the most excellent. “My flesh is food indeed and my blood
is drink indeed.”
What
does this real presence of Christ in the Eucharist do to us?
In a word, it gives us life. We read in St. John’s gospel the
Lord’s words, “unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you
have no life in you.” This does not mean that without the Eucharist
our heart stops or our brain ceases to function, but rather that
the life of Jesus will not course and flow through us in the way
he intended it should.
The
point is - that in our eucharistic food we have a potential for
receiving Christ which is unparalleled.
When
the Eucharistic Christ gives himself to us as food, we are transformed
into him. We can cry out with St. Paul: “it is no longer I who
live, but Christ lives in me.” In our ceaseless
effort to build up Christ in ourselves, the Eucharist is incomparable
food, for the food indeed is our Saviour, body and blood, soul
and divinity.
As
Catholics, we must realize the oneness, the unity which comes
in the reception of the Eucharist. A unity not only with Christ,
but a unity with every other person who has received Christ and
this unity with Christ must work itself out in a love that is
limitless. Within Catholicism the Bread of Life is not primarily
an individualistic thing, my private party, something between
Jesus and me. Its function is rather to form a community. St.
Paul phrased it beautifully when he said: “because the bread
is one, we, though many, are one body for we all partake of the
one bread.” The Lord who locks himself in the tabernacle of my
being also feeds the faraway pope, the same Christ who feeds his
followers here feeds them also in Asia, in Europe, in Africa,
in America. Christ is not divided. Christ is not multiplied.
There is one and the same body, one and the same Christ, for all.
In his flesh we are one. This eucharistic truth not only inspires
us to serve others in whom we see Christ, but it enables us to
follow that inspiration.
We
are called during this jubilee year to open wide the doors to
Christ, to let the face of Christ be seen, to proclaim the love
and goodness of Christ in our work and in our devotion. We strive
to do this always in our devotion to God, in our service to our
neighbours, in our willingness to sacrifice in the quest of eternal
life.
The
readings today speak of the sacrifice that Christ made, giving
his blood for the salvation of the world, creating a new covenant
between himself and humanity. And we too are sometimes called
to sacrifice. Our sacrifice is not that of the Christians who
were brought into the coliseum, not in Hamilton but in Rome.
The early Christians who were fed to the lions in Rome truly sacrificed.
We who live in a free country will not be called upon to make
that type of sacrifice. And yet, we must be prepared also to
sacrifice because we must proclaim Jesus Christ to a world that
at times is unreceptive, to a world that at times is openly hostile.
We must proclaim the truth of Christ, the truth for example, of
the value of human life, from conception to natural death. The
truth that Christ fed the poor and sheltered the homeless and
lifted the oppressed. The truth that Jesus said, “if you love
me, keep my commandments.” In this jubilee year
we are called, invited, urged to open wide the doors to Christ.
Opening this door wide is two-fold. First, to let Christ into
our hearts, to welcome Christ into our hearts, and second, to
open wide the doors of our being so that Christ in us may go out
to others, to assist them, to bless them by his loving presence.
We are the face of Christ in this world. The Eucharist strengthens
us and enables us to meet this challenge and to live this life
in our world. It is this Christ whom we celebrate today, on the
feast of Corpus Christi, in this great sacrament – unchanged,
loving, the Lord of the covenant.
Jesus
Christ yesterday, today, forever!
God
bless you.

Bishop
of Hamilton