A secular Franciscan & student of René Girard reflecting on how we desire according to the desire of the other.
"Most High, glorious God, cast Your Light into the darkness of my heart, and grant me a right faith, certain hope and perfect charity, sense and understanding, Lord, so that I may know and do Your holy and true command." - St. Francis of Assisi: Prayer before the Crucifix
The main character in Saul Bellow’s 1958 novel Henderson the Rain King has a problem:
There was a disturbance in my heart, a voice that spoke there and said, I want, I want, I want! It happened every afternoon, and when I tried to suppress it it got even stronger. It only said one thing, I want, I want! And I would ask, “What do you want?” But this was all it would ever tell me. It never said a thing except I want, I want, I want! At times I would treat it like an ailing child whom you offer rhymes or candy. I would walk it, I would trot it. I would sing to it or read to it. No use… Through fights and drunkenness and labor it went right on, in the country, in the city. No purchase, no matter how expensive, would lessen it. Then I would say, “Come on, tell me. What’s the complaint?”… The demand came louder, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want! And I would cry, begging at last, “Oh, tell me then. Tell me what you want!”
What is the meaning of this desire that will not leave him alone?
Synthetic bells, real grace
Not long ago there was a fascinating article on the Internet written by a well-educated, young journalist who had grown up in a devout Catholic family, but who “gave up religion” around the time she went to college. She moved from the South to New York City, which she dubbed “an ideal haven for the newly godless” because of the patent lack of religion in the majority of the young people she met. But she kept running into religious people in the most unlikely places and, she wrote, “I envied all of them their devotions.” After two years of letting “faith slip my mind,” the young woman woke up one spring day “at exactly noon” to the sound of recorded bells from a nearby church. Those bells were like Henderson’s nagging, afternoon voice of desire. The journalist recounts:
The synthetic bells in Brooklyn transported me back not just to the many… Masses I attended in [the school chapel] but the times in high school when I used to steal down there alone at lunchtimes and kneel in my uniform and take solace in the sense that Something was watching over me.
No matter how much faith may have slipped her mind, the disturbance known as desire continued to break through her heart.
Summoned out of ourselves
“Desire,” says C.S. Lewis, “summons you out of yourself.” As Henderson knew all too well, we do not give ourselves our desires. Neither can we satisfy them… or appease them… or, for that matter, remove them. Life without desire would lead to depression.
Our desires are the one thing about us that is infinite. That is why “no purchase, no matter how expensive” could fulfill them. Henderson senses that somehow the very meaning of his life is contained in his persistent desires; that is why he cries, begging, “Tell me what you want!” Henderson intuits that his desires are taking him somewhere… that they are opening him up to an exciting plan bigger than himself… enticing him to go after it. To understand the meaning of our desires, we must be open to the Infinite.
Once the journalist left off practicing her faith, it became difficult to “resist feeling all kinds of empty that we can’t name and can’t begin to fill and which has given rise to whole new myths.” Thank God for that dissatisfaction which moved her to a new awareness:
The sudden surfacing of the memory, the heady safety of belief and of someone knowing where I was going and that it was right, made my life since relinquishing it to reason feel like a wasteland in comparison, a frolic in the land of false idols.
Our desires are given to us to lead us to the One who gave them to us. They are given so that we can share in the happiness of the One who created us. They are given so that we can know who God is and how much he alone can fulfill our lives.
Even in her lapsed state, the journalist confesses:
There is the temptation to play along once more, to take shelter in the words that… good, intelligent people have believed for two thousand years are the right words. It is hard, too, to resist the gestures… Sometimes even in New York, when I’m at my wit’s end, I find myself sending up a plea for help. And afterwards, in the face of all reason, I sometimes feel relief.
Rev. Peter John Cameron, O.P. Copyright Magnificat
Born and raised near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Dr. Randall Smith also lived in Philadelphia and Chicago before attending college in Mount Vernon, Iowa, graduating with a BA in Chemistry from Cornell College. During his time at Cornell, he converted to Catholicism, and after college, went off to study his new-found Catholic faith. He subsequently earned a Master’s degree in theology from the University of Dallas and then completed a Master’s degree and doctorate at the University of Notre Dame.
During his college and graduate school years, Dr. Smith took on a number of interesting part-time jobs, including various jobs in a hospital, concrete factory worker, telephone operator, security guard, donut baker, research technician for Frito-Lay Research and Development, gate agent for an airline, IT support, UPS box loader, and high school teacher. Of them all, perhaps his most interesting job was as a school bus driver.
“My favorite vehicle to drive is a school bus,” says Dr. Smith.“When you drive a school bus, everyone gets out of your way. I once drove a school bus the wrong way down a one-way street in downtown Manhattan, and even the New Yorkers just got out of the way. If you break down by the side of the road in a bus, people will actually stop to help you. For me, there's just nothing better to drive than a school bus.”
As much fun as driving a school bus was, Dr. Smith loved teaching more. His first university teaching position was at the University of Notre Dame, and in the fall of 2001, he joined the faculty at UST. Since that time, Dr. Smith has taught a number of theology courses including “Teachings of the Catholic Church” and “Modern Challenges to Christianity,” as well as the second Honors course, HNRS 1392, “From Empire to Christendom.” He always takes great pleasure in his job. “I love teaching. And I really love talking with my students. In fact, I love talking with just about anybody about things that really matter to them.”
Now to his column at The Catholic Thing (make sure to link to the article and read Dr Smith's column) where he concludes with the following:
In the "Comment" section of the article you find: written by Randall, June 24, 2012
Yes, that dialogue from the Monty Python film pretty much encapsulates what I've heard from a lot of people who aren't Catholic.
As regards the strangeness of Catholicism - that's a large part of what attracted me to the Church and caused me to study it. The Church's "stick-in-the-mud" stance in the world, or in other words, the immovability of this Pillar of Truth in the world's mire, is why I eventually converted. Glory to God!
To the comment from a reader:
(Smith wrote:) "Rather than trying to convince everyone that Catholicism is not in any way “strange” or “different” or counter-cultural, maybe we should be tacking in the opposite direction: trying to convince everyone that Catholicism is the strangest, most utterly “different” thing there is . . ."
Your observation certainly applies to vocations. Bishops and vocation directors take notice- there is a Carmelite convent near Lincoln, Nebraska that has the Mass and all seven offices in Latin, full habits, a very formidable grill, the ancient rule, and is being INUNDATED with vocations. The interest is unending. There have been about thirty-five entrances in the past five years. There'll be another one tomorrow, and another on the 13th of July.
These young women want authenticity above all, the real thing, the Carmelite order as reformed by St. Teresa. They do not want to be involved in an ongoing experiment- the labyrinth, enneagrams, the spirituality of resentment and rebellion. They want to be saints. They don't want to dress like or live like everyone else.
We have to abandon- and soon- what has become the unstated, but over-riding guiding principle in much of Catholic life: The Supreme Importance of Fitting In. I can well imagine, for example, the discussion that takes place in selecting bishops: Yes, yes, your eminence, I agree that Father X is a very holy and learned man, powerful in word and work, but . . .can he talk baseball? Can he come off as a regular guy at some level? Can he fit in?
Similarly, it is very important for the powers that govern Notre Dame that it ape the Ivy League, lest we be laughed at, whereas it would have come to real glory and influence by being the most Catholic university possible.
We Catholics have worked so hard to be accepted in this country, and God help us, we have become very like everyone else. But it is a firm principle of the spiritual life: seek applause and you will get disgrace. And we have had a bellyful.
Could it be... that just maybe... our psychological well-being isn't about "fitting in," which is another way of saying that we need to be always seeking applause? That our well-being isn't about being the mirror of 'this world' but rather, using a page from St Clare of Assisi, being the mirror of Christ.
The heart of life is through reconciliation though we do everything to avoid this reality. In many of Caryll Houselander's writings this very theme of reality appears and reappears. Today's meditation of the day in the Magnificat we have a great reflection from her.
But the warning is this: do not ask from any human being that which God only can give. I grant you that God gives himself through human beings and unites himself through human relationships, provided the people involved realize their human relationships as a mutual giving and receiving of Christ-life and the Holy Spirit, and do nothing to frustrate this. But God does not give himself wholly t: I mean rather that although every real friendship is a mutual Christ-giving, no one friend can give God to you so perfectly as completely to to satisfy and fill your need for his love.
Human elements enter into every human relationship, and disturb the serenity of them all sometimes. You see, we all tend to ask from the other human being things that God alone can give and we can only attain by a mutual and conscious turning to God together, and accepting from God together whatever suffering is the condition of love - and of course suffering in some measure is the condition of all love and every love ...
God's love for those we love is infinitely greater than our own, and it is as well to remember it, and to remember it especially when he allows things to happen which threaten both their happiness or safety, and ours.
And it is also the ultimate reason why, despite the Christ-giving element in our relationships, they can never be perfect here. There must be empty places left in our hearts, because the final happiness of both depends upon God himself possessing us completely; once that is achieved, heaven can begin for both, and in heaven of course, unlike here, our friendships will take part, not only imperfectly, in God, but perfectly.
That, however, won't happen here; so, while thanking God for the joy and miracle of your new friendships, do not demand perfection of them, and do not be disappointed when trails arise, Actually, but for the failure of other relationships in your life, and for the suffering you have had through them, which, by the by, you have borne with magnificent fortitude and sweetness, but for those things you would not now be ready, fashioned as it were by the hammer of God.
This poem reminds me of how easy it is to get caught up in a desire to acquire the being of an other - to be who we are not - the mimetic entanglement par excellence. Instead of wishing for what an other has we have the blessing to be thankful for what we have been given and who we are in God's sight.
THE WORLD IS MINE
Today, upon a bus, I saw a very beautiful woman And wished I were as beautiful. When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle. She had one leg and wore a crutch. But as she passed, she gave a smile. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two legs; the world is mine
I stopped to buy some candy. The lad who sold it had such charm. I talked with him, he seemed so glad. If I were late, it’d do no harm. And as I left, he said to me, “I thank you, you’ve been so kind. It’s nice to talk with folks like you. You see,” he said, “I’m blind.” Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two eyes; the world is mine.
Later while walking down the street, I saw a child I knew. He stood and watched the others play, but he did not know what to do. I stopped a moment and then I said, “Why don’t you join them dear?” He looked ahead without a word. I forgot, he couldn’t hear.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two ears; the world is mine. With feet to take me where I’d go.. With eyes to see the sunset’s glow. With ears to hear what I’d know. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I’ve been blessed indeed, the world is mine.
DEAR LORD, teach us to be thankful for all that you have given us. Help us to be content with what comes from You, remembering that what You choose is better than what we choose. You are the Potter and we are the clay. Turn our lives and do what in Your divine knowledge is best for us.
Do we really believe the implications of the Real Presence of Christ... and what is the ramification of that first Eucharist that Christ directed in memory of Him? The radical nature of this goes so far beyond strife of denominational differences and our laisser-faire philosophy of what's in it for me.
Does anyone else feel the fundamentally radical "new thing" Jesus instituted? The Eucharist goes beyond all of our human reason and knowledge... and yet somehow there is something here that connects each of us to the very root of humanity. Each time we participate in the Eucharist we hear the words, “Do this in memory of me.” But what do these words mean? AND maybe more important: How do we come to believe and take them seriously? I brought together 3 meditations to try to help us explore deep into this mystery. This is a bit longer post for I feel that to simply 'taste' this radical new substance at a surface level would not give ourselves a chance to digest and to benefit from an adequate contemplation nor adoration.
Do this in memory of me’ - from Archbishop Gregory M. AymondWhy is the Eucharist so important? The Gospel tells us that Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, gave it to his disciples and said, “This is my body which will be given up for you.” He took a cup of wine, blessed it and gave it to his disciples and said, “Take this all of you and drink from it, this is the chalice of my blood…” Immediately after Jesus gave his Body and Blood to the apostles he then said: “Do this in memory of me.” In the same way he commanded his apostles to celebrate the Eucharist, he commands us to continue to celebrate this meal in his memory.
“The command of Jesus to repeat his actions and words ‘until he comes’ does not only ask us to remember Jesus and what he did, it is directed at the liturgical celebration, by the Apostles and their successors, of the memorial of Christ, of his life, of his death, and of his resurrection, and of his intercession in the presence of the Father” (The Catechism of the Catholic Church #1341)... It is a most sacred moment when we unite ourselves to Christ and offer ourselves, all that we are, and all those whom we hold in our hearts, to the Father.
So we not only remember what He did but we direct our entire being toward becoming Him.
Preface: The Sacrifice and the Sacrament of Christ
It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation,
always and everywhere to give you thanks,
Lord, holy Father, almighty and eternal God,
through Christ our Lord.
For he is the true and eternal Priest,
who instituted the pattern of an everlasting sacrifice
and was the first to offer himself as the saving Victim,
commanding us to make this offering as his memorial.
As we eat his flesh that was sacrificed for us,
we are made strong,
and, as we drink his Blood that was poured out for us,
we are washed clean.
And so, with Angels and Archangels,
with Thrones and Dominions,
and with all the hosts and Powers of heaven,
we sing the hymn of your glory,
as without end we acclaim:
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts Heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.
Corpus Christi - from Paul Claudel (poet, playwright, diplomat and member of the French Academy) FromJune's Magnificat
Our body had to have its share and its perception of the Blessed Sacrament. It is under cover of them that the Redeemer willed to be not only present, but ardently desired ... He wills to make us sharers in what is deepest down in him, deeper than thought, deeper than the very heart. He makes us co-exist with him, he makes us share his center, his inmost life as Redeeming Christ in the very way in which he sets about making that Body is in the substance which is in us as the effect in the cause. Not a throb of his Heart but our own can feel at the Well-Spring. The Eucharistic Christ is precisely the same who conversed with the Apostles, but they saw him from without to within, and we entertain his, so to speak, from within to without ...
"You shall eat it up entirely," as it is written in the Book of Exodus. Entirely shall you put it away within. No longer for your eyes but for your nourishment, no longer for your curiosity but for your edification, no longer for your consideration but for your Faith: no longer for your instruction but for your construction. The Christian - another Christ. Jesus, in order to teach us to make ourselves Christians and the sort of man who says: "I live now, not I, but Christ in me," addresses us wholly Body and Soul. He trusts us with his own key. He makes us do with him as to our inmost life all that makes Christ in him: he makes us touch him with a contact infinitely more delicate and complete than that of the Apostle's fingers when they went right into the gaping wound.
In these beauty word-images from the poet Paul Claudel we get a sense of a re-orientation of what it means to be a human being?
THE FEAST OF CORPUS
CHRISTI - from Gil Bailie
Christ said, "Take this and eat it." He did not say:
"Take this and figure it out." The Eucharist is the great, central mystery of
Christianity, Jesus' last will and testament. Jesus never instructed his
disciples to write a book. However indispensable the Christian scriptures are -
and they certainly are indispensable - they were written, so to speak, at the
Eucharistic Table.
"To those who say that the Eucharist is rooted in
archaic cannibalism," wrote Girard, "instead of saying 'no', we have to say
'yes!'. The real history of man is religious history, which goes back to
primitive cannibalism. Primitive cannibalism is religion, and the Eucharist
recapitulates the history from alpha to omega." (When I first met René many
years ago, he was a Eucharistic minister at his parish.)
When Girard
said "Primitive cannibalism is religion," he corroborated in a way what Henri de
Lubac had written a few decades earlier:
"To see in Catholicism one
religion among others, one system among others, even if it be added that it is
the only true religion, the only system that works, is to mistake its very
nature, or at least to stop at the threshold. Catholicism is religion itself. It
is the form that humanity must put on in order finally to be itself."
Not
everyone believes this, and the faith of those who do might easily turn into
lip-service were it not for those who don't. One way or another, we're all
caught up in the ongoing drama of the Incarnation which steams into our world
from the Eucharistic altar.
The very root of the Eucharist is primitive cannibalism as well as what human sacrifice represented for the power of religious catharsis and yet it is the direct inverse of it. If you have been able to skim through this world of "escalating to extreme" distractions, not yet touched to the very core of your human existence, maybe you are called to re-exam your life. For the Apostles and for us, the Eucharist realigns all the metal filings of our being. Catharsis is like an electric shock that dispels all the alienation and mimetic animosities. We are a people again. This is what sacrificial ritual does, particularly with a human victim, and what Christ does at the first Eucharistic gathering is just as shocking: “This is my body which will be given up for you.” He took a cup of wine, blessed it and gave it to his disciples and said, “Take this all of you and drink from it, this is the chalice of my blood…” Immediately after Jesus gave his Body and Blood to the apostles he then said: “Do this in memory of me.”
WOW! What is more radical then this? Christ is reversing OUR violence by extending an invitation into this new creation, His Body. Truly unimaginable!
And then to consider that this Christ-event has been passed on from generation to generation by the blood of martyrs and servants of the Church, and though they themselves most assuredly have been blemished by sin, they stayed obedient and true to the only thing that they had come to know as real - the REAL PRESENCE OF CHRIST.
Can you imagine anything less than an active participation at Mass?
The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy from Vatican II reminds us that the church earnestly desires all the faithful be led to that full, conscious and active participation in liturgical celebrations (#14). We do not “go to Mass” in a passive way but are called to pray, listen and sing with the faith community gathered as a family praying in one voice with one heart.
Furthermore Vatican II states: “The Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christian life” (Lumen Gentium #11). The other sacraments and all ministries of the church are connected to the Eucharist and are oriented toward it.
Like what a magnet does to a bunch of loose metal filing, though they may be distinct in size, the magnet realigns them into one. In these meditations I hope you found yourself re-oriented to what the word 'this' of "Do this in memory of me" means.
Pange Lingua Gloriosi - Catholic Hymns, Gregorian Chant
Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory, of His flesh the mystery sing; of the Blood, all price exceeding, shed by our immortal King, destined, for the world's redemption, from a noble womb to spring.
On the night of that Last Supper, seated with His chosen band, He the Pascal victim eating, first fulfills the Law's command; then as Food to His Apostles gives Himself with His own hand.
Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature by His word to Flesh He turns; wine into His Blood He changes; what though sense no change discerns? Only be the heart in earnest, faith her lesson quickly learns.
Down in adoration falling, This great Sacrament we hail, Over ancient forms of worship Newer rites of grace prevail; Faith will tell us Christ is present, When our human senses fail.
To the everlasting Father, And the Son who made us free And the Spirit, God proceeding From them Each eternally, Be salvation, honor, blessing, Might and endless majesty. Amen.
Vatican City, 8 June 2012 (VIS) - At 7 p.m. today, Solemnity of Corpus Christi, Benedict XVI celebrated Mass in the basilica of St. John Lateran, then led a Eucharistic procession along Via Merulana to the basilica of St. Mary Major.
During the liturgical celebration, the Pope pronounced a homily in which he focused on the sacredness of the Eucharist, and in particular on the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.
"A unilateral interpretation of Vatican Council II has penalised this dimension", the Holy Father explained, "effectively limiting the Eucharist to the moment of celebrating Mass. It is, of course, very important to recognise the importance of celebration, in which the Lord calls His people, bringing them together around the table of the Word and Bread of life, nourishing them and uniting them to Himself in the sacrificial offering. This interpretation of the liturgical gathering, in which the Lord works and achieves His mystery of communion, naturally retains all its validity, but a rightful balance must be restored. ... By concentrating our relationship with the Eucharistic Christ only on Mass we run the risk that the rest of time and space is emptied of His presence. Thus our perception of Jesus' constant, real and close presence among us and with us is diminished".
"It is a mistake to establish a contrast between celebration and adoration, as if they were in competition with one another. The opposite is true. The cult of the Blessed Sacrament represents the spiritual 'environment' within which the community can celebrate the Eucharist correctly and truthfully. Only if preceded, accompanied and followed by this interior attitude of faith and adoration, can liturgical activity express its full meaning and value", the Pope said.
He then went on to explain that, at the moment of adoration, we are all at the same level, "on our knees before the Sacrament of Love. The common and ministerial priesthood come together in the cult of the Eucharist. ... By remaining together in silence before the Lord, present in His Sacrament, we have one of the most authentic experiences of being Church, one that is complementary to our celebration of the Eucharist. ... Communion and contemplation cannot be separated, they go together", and if contemplation is lacking "even sacramental communion can become a superficial gesture on our part".
Turning then to consider the sacredness of the Eucharist, Benedict XVI noted that here too, in the recent past, there has been "some misunderstanding of the authentic message of Holy Scripture. The Christian novelty of worship has been influenced by a certain secularist mentality of the 1960s and 1970s. It is true, and it remains valid, that the centre of worship is no longer in the ancient rites and sacrifices, but in Christ Himself, His person, His life, His Paschal Mystery. Yet this fundamental novelty must not lead us to conclude that the sacred no longer exists".
Christ "did not abolish the sacred but brought it to fulfilment, inaugurating a new worship which is entirely spiritual but which nonetheless, as long as our journey in time continues, still uses signs and rites. These will only fall into disuse at the end, in the celestial Jerusalem where there will be no temple". Moreover, the Holy Father went on, "the sacred has an educational function. Its disappearance inevitably impoverishes culture, and especially the formation of the new generations. ... Our Father God ... sent His Son into the world, not to abolish the sacred but to bring it to fulfilment. At the culmination of this mission, at the Last Supper, Jesus established the Sacrament of His Body and His Blood, the Memorial of His Paschal Sacrifice. By doing so he put Himself in the place of the ancient sacrifices, but He did so in the context of a rite, which he ordered the Apostles to perpetuate as a supreme sign of the true sacrifice, which is Him. With this faith, ... day after day we celebrate the Eucharistic Mystery, and adore it as the centre of our lives and the heart of the world".
When does a symbol become a Symbol, a Presence?Flannery O'Connor came closest to answering that question in one of her letters written in 1955:
I was once, five or six years ago, taken by some friends to have dinner with Mary McCarthy and her husband, Mr. Broadwater. (She just wrote that book, "A Charmed Life.") She departed the Church at the age of 15 and is a Big Intellectual. We went at eight and at one, I hadn't opened my mouth once, there being nothing for me in such company to say. . . . Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but overcome with inadequacy had forgotten them.
Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the most portable person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.
That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.
When the soldiers came to Jesus, says Saint John, they saw he was dead, so they did not break his legs. Instead, one of the soldiers pierced his side with a lance, penetrating the drowned lungs and the heart. Immediately blood and water flowed forth. John himself is the eyewitness.
The water is the baptismal drowning of sin, and the blood the wine of the Eucharist that gladdens our sinful hearts. Jesus himself said he would pour out his blood for the remission of sins. It is the living wine that he offered to all, if they would humble themselves to accept it, whether or not they could understand it. So after the miracle of the loaves and fishes, he said to the people that unless they ate the flesh of the Son of Man and drank his blood, they would not have life within them. If we believe that the Eucharist is merely symbolic, we confine it to earth, we measure it in time, and we consign it to death. But when the Apostle was granted the vision of a new heaven and a new earth, he saw the eternal wedding feast of the Lamb, an eternal Eucharist – and a pure river of living water flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.
“Come to me”
The heart of Jesus, once opened, does not close again; and the wine he gave to the Apostles at the last supper flows for ever, because it is love’s wine. We cannot understand this in earthly terms, nor are we strong enough to do without it. We faint along the way. We sin, and fall short of the glory of God. Whenever we try to save ourselves by the force of human intellect alone, whenever we try to turn stones into bread, we end up grinding our teeth in hunger, hearing from afar off the joy of the feast within a city whose gates open always, and only, for love. Then we should heed the consoling words of Jesus. “Come to me,” he says, “all you who labor and are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest.” Or, to the Samaritan woman at the well, “I will give you living water.” Or, to the Apostles on that solemn night before he died, “Be of good cheer: I have overcome the world.”
Here and now
The drama of the life of Jesus, his Death, his Resurrection, his eternal self-giving, which is an eternal descent to feed the sinner and wash him clean, is the theme of the lovely Eucharistic hymn “Here, O My Lord.” The speaker knows that the Lord is near and present and visible in the sacrament, but he is also weak and hungering for God:
Here, O my Lord, I see thee face to face;
Here would I touch and handle things unseen;
Here grasp with firmer hand eternal grace,
And all my weariness upon thee lean.
The word “here” is plaintive and insistent. The communicant cannot wait for death. He needs the Lord now, here, just as a man on a long journey needs bread for the way. He doesn’t want a symbol; what good would a picture of bread do for a hungering man? He wants the reality. He wants the Lord.
The second stanza continues the insistent prayer:
Here would I feed upon the Bread of God;
Here drink with thee the royal wine of heaven;
Here would I lay aside each earthly load,
Here taste afresh the calm of sin forgiven.
Jesus never said that if we turned to him he would eventually ease us of the burden of sins. His love is too demanding for that, too impetuous. Precisely because his kingdom is not of this world, it can be here and everywhere among us, now. We do not look for some abstract “Christ” of our imagination to stand as the goal of human endeavor. Jesus the Christ is not a theorem or the solution to an equation. He is our Lord. We look for Jesus, and behold, he is really among us, under the appearance of bread and wine.
The sacrament that does not end
If we understand that, then for us to take the Eucharist is to love the Lord. But we are so weak that our love must be as a child’s: we must allow ourselves to be loved by God, to be fed and taken care of. All our strength is as brittle as the trunk of a dead tree, but when we lean on the arms of Jesus – those arms that calmed the wind and the waves, and that were nailed in mighty powerlessness to the cross – we have all the strength we need:
I have no help but thine; nor do I need
Another arm save thine to lean upon;
It is enough, my Lord, enough indeed;
My strength is in thy might, thy might alone.
In the end, the here of the believer, bound to his sins and to a body destined to die, is transferred to the here of Jesus’ sacrifice. On my own, I am beaten by time along the way, stripped naked, bleeding, left for dead. I turn instead to the Lord, and to the sacrament that does not end, because it is the sacrament of love:
Mine is the sin, but thine the righteousness;
Mine is the guilt, but thine the cleansing Blood.
Here is my robe, my refuge, and my peace;
Thy Blood, thy righteousness, O Lord, my God.
- Anthony Esolen is professor of English at Providence College, a senior editor of Touchstone Magazine, and a regular contributor to Magnificat. He is the translator and editor of Dante’s Divine Comedy and author of Ironies of Faith. [Copyright Magnificat]
As regards the strangeness of Catholicism - that's a large part of what attracted me to the Church and caused me to study it. The Church's "stick-in-the-mud" stance in the world, or in other words, the immovability of this Pillar of Truth in the world's mire, is why I eventually converted.
Glory to God!