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The three readings, once again, dovetail well on this Feast of the Body and Blood of Christ. That first reading, from the Book of Deuteronomy, recalls an event that took place about 3, 5000 years ago. Moses and the rest of the Hebrews had left the slavery of Egypt behind, had journeyed through the desert for 40 years, entered into a covenant relationship with God, and now were on the cusp of entering the Promised Land. But before they did so, Moses gave them a reality check. He said to them, “Don’t ever forget that it was not your efforts nor my efforts, as your leader, that has brought us out of the house of slavery in Egypt. It was God. And through all the turmoil we’ve been through, all the ups and downs of the past 40 years, it was God who fed us with manna, bread from heaven.”

Unfortunately, Moses dies shortly after saying this and never entered the Promised Land of Canaan himself. I always thought this was unfair to Moses after leading this stiff-necked bunch of people so far all those years. It seemed unfair that he didn’t get to celebrate the results of all his hard labour. I realize now it had to be that way. If Moses had led them into the Promised Land, they would be tempted to say, “Look what we’ve done all on our own!” forgetting that it was actually God who was in charge of their destiny. It really was God who walked with them and stuck by them every step of the way. If it’s true of them, it’s equally true of us.

That’s what Corpus Christi processions, if you’re old enough to remember them, were supposed to do. (They still happen, by the way, in many countries especially Latino countries). By walking through the streets with the Blessed Sacrament, it was supposed to signify that the Risen Christ continues to walk with us just as God journeyed with the Hebrews through their 40-year journey through the desert. The point was to remember and take comfort in Jesus’ final words, “Remember I am with you until the end of time.” Where this devotion lost that connection, it died out. Where it kept the connection of God journeying with us, the devotion has stayed alive. Forty represented not only the years in the desert but also represented the average life span. Putting those two together meant that God journeys with you over your entire life span and can never abandon you.

If you read the creation story, from the Book of Genesis, you hear that God created human beings in the image and likeness of God and gave them dominion over nature. God charged men and women with subduing the earth and sharing dominion over it. Now, when you look at how we have abused the earth, the dominion model has not served us very well nor the generations to come. The story of the journey through the desert, in Deuteronomy, gives us a very different way of looking at things. Our ancestor in faith, who journeyed through the desert, were given another way of understanding their relationship with the earth and with nature that was very humbling for them. When you’re starving, when there is no food, when there’s no rain, you’re not in charge. You do not have dominion over nature. Nature has dominion over you. And when the food appears mysteriously and “free of charge,” you know that it’s really not yours. Someone else, besides you, is in charge and is caring for you. Knowing this you walk a little differently upon this earth aware of your own hunger, aware of your neighbour’s hunger and aware of the only One who can satisfy humanity’s hunger. In that moment of awareness, domination, hoarding, and greed give way to humility, gratitude, and sharing. What God has graciously given us is never ours to keep but is always ours to share.

“What you have freely received,” says Jesus, “freely give.” The Hebrews freely received the manna and the disciples freely received Jesus’ Body and Blood just as we do. The key is to pass it on freely not begrudgingly. Eucharist is a mutual flow of life flowing into us and flowing out of us. When we withhold our love, or when we secretly judge who’s worthy and who is not worthy of Communion, life stops being a mutual flow and starts to become a competition, usually of worthiness.

The central act in these three Scripture stories is eating. Eating is an act of assimilation, an intimate act by which a part of the world becomes a part of us. I often joke that when you look at me, you see at least 60% chocolate. We are not separate from the world. In fact, we are physically constituted by the world. Jesus fully understand this dynamic. When we eat material food, it becomes us (cow protein becomes human protein). However, when we eat spiritual food, we become it.

Recently, I celebrated Eucharist with a small group of parishioners about 25 in all. When it came time to receive Communion, each person acted as a communion minister for the next person. And instead of saying the usual, “Body of Christ” and “Blood of Christ” we said something else. In handing over the blessed bread and wine, we quoted St. Augustine and said, “Receive who you are. Become what you receive.”

            “Receive who you are,” could mean, “Let me remind you, as I look you in the eyes, that you are part of the Body of Christ.”

            “Become what you receive,” could mean, “Don’t forget, you are a work in progress slowly and gradually becoming the Body and Blood of Christ for the salvation of the world.” Many people receive the Body and Blood of Christ simply as an act of piety, perhaps to feel a little holier or a little closer to Jesus. The real reason we receive is to become. Did you ever consider that the salvation of the world is absolutely contingent on you and me becoming the Body and Blood of Christ so that the world can eat and drink of us and have a chance of being transformed? Can you believe that God is saving the world not only through his Son, Jesus, but also through you?

            Before I over-spiritualize this whole notion of the Body and Blood of Christ, one of the real dangers is the numbness that prevents us from seeing Christ in the least of our brothers and sisters. Personally, I find it quite easy to receive Communion at Mass or to sit for a half hour in front of the tabernacle. What’s much more challenging for me is to see and serve the Body of Christ in the people who come to my door smelly, disheveled, and always asking for money.

            I end with a quote from a Jesuit priest, Fr. Pedro Arrupe, who once remarked, “If there is hunger anywhere in the world, the celebration of the Eucharist is somehow incomplete everywhere in the world.”

            Fr. Pedro must have understood what Jesus meant when he said, “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” It’s not bread for Catholics only; it’s bread for the life of the world. And believe it or not, you are it.

            Fr. Phil