How marvelous, how sublime, that we should be counted as children of the Most High, and receive through Sacred Liturgy, our very Lord and Savior. What gift can compare? As the Sequence for this Feast expresses: When the sacrament is broken, Doubt not, but believe ‘tis spoken, That each sever’d outward token doth the very whole contain. Nought the precious gift divides, Breaking but the sign betides Jesus still the same abides, still unbroken does remain. May we all marvel when our priest fractures the Sacred Host and drops the smaller piece in the Precious Blood of the Chalice right before the Agnus Dei .Tis a liturgical act showing forth the Resurrection. Jesus lives forever not only to intercede for us, but to personally gift Himself to each one who reverently receives Him in Holy Communion. Who can compare with our God?! There is none! Glory to Him in all times and beyond in Eternity! Alleluia!
What sets Catholicism apart from other religions—except for the Orthodox Church—is the belief in the perpetual presence of Christ on our altars: literally, in the Eucharistic species; spiritually, through His Spirit; and mystically and intellectually, through the Church’s infallible ordinary magisterium. When you look at the communion table in many radical Protestant denominations, their very belief contradicts the real presence, reducing the ritual to a mere social convention of repetition, where you simply look at a table and cannot distinguish what is truly important or spiritually profound. Some Protestant denominations place a strong emphasis on the pulpit, where the pastor is often regarded as the highest spiritual authority. In a certain sense, his words are seen as the spiritual nourishment of the congregation. However, these leaders are often false moral references, prone to error, and naturally inclined toward some degree of heresy as a consequence of their separation from the Church. In our Church, we do not claim that our pastors are immune to error or even to apostasy. However, we are assured of a spiritual nourishment that is subject to no human error or moral failure—because it is Christ Himself, the supreme spiritual nourishment, who never loses His sanctifying and redemptive efficacy. We may often feel hurt by our bishops and parish priests because of their faults, but no reprehensible conduct on their part can shake the foundation of our spiritual strength—the manna that came down from heaven, which we consume in this current desert of faith and yet do not perish. Perhaps one day we may be left with only a handful of faithful clergy to listen to. But as long as we have the Eucharist, our faith will continue to be nourished—so long as we preserve the sound doctrine we have already received.
Dismiss the crowd so that they can go to the surrounding villages and farms and find lodging and provisions; for we are in a deserted place here.” The Apostles have a point. The crowds had followed Jesus out into the country, away from the towns and villages. Ironically, it was Jesus Himself who had decided to go with His Apostles to a deserted place to escape the crowds and the busyness of the towns. (Cf. Mark 6:31) But the crowds followed and now found themselves in need of food. That is the context for one of our Lord’s most important miracles, the only one recorded by all four evangelists. The whole scene is Eucharistic, of course. But the setting and context of the miracle – worked for people who had followed Him into the desert – indicates a particular dimension of the Eucharist. It is food for the journey. And that in turn reveals a profound connection between the Eucharist and the virtue of hope, the focus of this Jubilee Year. Hebrews describes hope as “an anchor, sure and firm, which reaches into the interior behind the veil.” (Hebrews 6:19) It’s a curious kind of anchor, that stabilizes us not where we are but where we are going to be. It secures us where He is and draws us upward. This corresponds to the description of hope as “already but not yet.” By way of hope in Christ, we are already anchored in Heaven, where He is seated at the right hand of the Father. Thus, hope is certain and does not disappoint. Yet at the same time, we have not yet reached our goal and still look to it for inspiration. The Eucharist bears these same traits. Our reception of Holy Communion in effect anchors us in Heaven. At that moment, we are already united with Jesus in risen and glorified Body. Thus, Saint Thomas calls the Eucharist the “pledge of future glory.” It is a piece of Heaven (so to speak) given to us already here on earth that draws us upward to where we are not yet fully. It is not yet the fullness of His glory, only the pledge of it. Likewise in adoration, we already gaze upon Him under the veil of bread and wine – but we do not yet see Him face to face. Hope is also referred to as the virtue of the wayfarer and pilgrim. It is designed, so to speak, for those who have set out on the way. It thus strengthens us on our pilgrimage through this world. When we know with a certainty of His victory and trust in His promises for grace and glory, then we can make our way more courageously and joyfully through the challenges of this valley of tears. This also means that hope makes no sense apart from the journey, apart from striving for Heaven’s glory. One reason our world lacks hope is because it has given up on the journey. In a bitter irony, the more we have confined ourselves to this world, and become comfortable and complacent here, the more hopeless we’ve become. The virtue of hope atrophies if it is not exercised in a striving for Heaven. 5th-century mosaic [Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes, Tabgha, Israel] So also the Eucharist is meant for travelers – and no others. When a priest brings Holy Communion to the dying, we call it viaticum – food for the journey. In that specific circumstance, the Eucharist is clearly the nourishment the soul needs to journey from this world to the next. But in a broader sense, it is always viaticum, always nourishment for the pilgrim, food for the journey. This is what the Apostles call our attention to in today’s Gospel. The crowds were wayfarers and pilgrims of a sort. They had followed Christ out into a deserted place. They had journeyed for His teaching and healing – for Him. They needed nourishment precisely because they had chosen to follow Him rather than remaining in place, because they preferred the desert with Him to the towns with food. In the sequence for this feast, Saint Thomas writes of the Eucharist as cibus viatórum – food for the travelers or “pilgrims’ food.” The current translation renders this line as food “for the pilgrim who has striven.” Which doesn’t quite capture the meaning. The Eucharist is not given to the one who has striven as if it’s a reward. It is given to the one who is striving, still on the way and thus in need of nourishment. The path Jesus has traced for us is difficult and tiring. To deny ourselves, take up our Cross, and follow Him requires the nourishment that only He can provide, that of Himself. No other nourishment (and we try plenty) is equal to that task. This always means that to appreciate the Eucharist and to receive its nourishment efficaciously, we must choose to be pilgrims and wayfarers in this world. This food is not meant for those who have made peace with this world, grown comfortable here, and have no sense of the Christian journey. It cannot be understood by those who seek only comfort and not the glory promised us. Perhaps one reason for the decline in Eucharistic devotion is the naturalizing of the faith, the reduction of it to way of life for this world only. Thus does the Eucharist nourish our hope, by anchoring us in Heaven and strengthening us on our way. - Fr. Paul Scalia
we are already united with Jesus in risen and glorified Body. Et si sensus deficit, Ad firmandum cor sincerum Sola fides sufficit.
