LITURGY
AND LIFE
Anne
Strachan
Diverse
multitudes seek sustenance for the journey
Body
and Blood of Christ
June 6, 2010
Genesis 14:18-20
Psalm 110
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Luke 9:11-17
Years ago, when my daughter
was a toddler, I held her in my arms and approached a visiting priest
to receive the bread of the eucharist. Seeking a blessing for Carmen,
I stood in front of this cleric who hailed from a distant land.
Father Sambola — I
remember his name, but not his home country — was dark-skinned
and charismatic. His first surprising request had been for the community
to provide “real” bread for the celebration of the eucharist.
A certain generous Slovak grandmother — Anna Urban — proceeded
to her kitchen to expertly blend ingredients, knead dough and bake an
aromatic loaf of intricately braided bread. The sight of her effort
upon the altar was humble and glorious altogether.
I’d never experienced
anything other than dry, flat little wafers. This artistic, delectable
fruit of human hands was a revelation. As Father Sambola broke the fragrant
bread and held a piece toward my waiting hand, I experienced the undeniable
presence of the sacred.
Joseph Gunn writes: “Eucharist
is a moment when the sacred breaks forth into human life, when existence
takes on deeper meaning because the presence of God becomes recognizable
— through blessing bread and then sharing it.”
In eucharist, “the
presence of God becomes recognizable.” This is a profound statement;
and yet, at times we can find ourselves merely going through the motions.
Imagine we are among the
five thousand listening to Jesus on that long-ago occasion when he performed
a miracle with five loaves of bread and two fish. Following a fruitful
day contemplating his words, we are hungry. We become restless and distracted.
The disciples are also at
the end of a long day. Seeking respite, they attempt to send us away,
but Jesus doesn’t let them off so easily. He challenges them:
“You give them something to eat.”
They manage to scrounge up
five loaves of bread and two fish. Then, Jesus “. . . blessed
and broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd.
And all ate and were filled.” Imagine! Everyone — no questions
asked — was included in the feast. Perhaps this unquestioning
inclusiveness was the real miracle of the day.
In the eucharist, we’re
blessed by Jesus; we become his body and blood even as the bread and
wine we consume are his body and blood. We take in the essence of Christ,
and as a community we’re invited to enter into the great vision
of God’s love Jesus presented every time he healed, ate and discoursed
with sinners. Jesus didn’t divide people into categories: some
are invited to approach the table; others may receive a blessing as
a kind of compensation for not belonging to the inner crowd. Jesus was
“all-inclusive.”
Do we welcome strangers as
Jesus welcomed those on that hillside? A blessing is a profound gift
in its own right; and yet, sometimes it seems to me that being offered
a compensatory “blessing” is like being given a mere snack
while those who “belong” partake in a full and delicious
meal. Where — and why — do we draw our lines?
We might contemplate how
Jesus fed hungry, receptive people, trusting — trusting —
that his message, in time, would indeed bear fruit in the sometimes
slow transformation of stubborn, fragile human hearts.
Structure and guidelines
can of course be desirable and necessary in order to establish well-functioning,
educated communities. At the same time, when I imagine myself on that
hillside listening to the Son of Man, deepening the encounter when I
accept an offering of bread and fish distributed to the worthy and the
unworthy alike, I’m humbled. Are any of us really worthy?
Even the most “worthy”
of us, those with longstanding “official” membership and
positions of leadership, struggle at times with the mystery offered
to us in the form of bread and wine. We are sincere, but we’re
also human. Our comprehension is inevitably limited. Sometimes we’re
present and receptive; other times we’re not, no matter our outward
image or rank in the community.
At that long-ago mass with
Father Sambola and Grandma Urban’s loaf of sacred bread, I presented
my child for a blessing. Carmen then did the most natural thing. Reaching
out her tiny hand toward the bread, she cried “Please! I want
some!” For one holy moment, I thought Father Sambola might actually
answer her longing with the Body of Christ.
There are those who temporarily
enter our churches, people seeking sustenance for the journey. The first
disciples initially implore Jesus, “Send the crowd away.”
In response, Jesus presents a clear challenge: “You give them
something to eat.”
Strachan is married with three children and lives in Nakusp, BC. She is a Benedictine Oblate with St. Peter’s Abbey in Muenster, SK., and a member of the Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild.
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