I've used this quote from Annie Dillard before (according to my records, also on Corpus Christi, back in 2007), but it's a great one, so it bears repeating.
The Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ B
The
Jerusalem Temple was the scene
of daily animal sacrifices.
But
one sacrifice in the course of the entire year
stood
out above all the others.
On
the annual Day of Atonement, and only on that day,
the
high priest would enter the Holy of Holies—
the
temple’s inner sanctum,
where the Ark of the Covenant was kept—
to
sprinkle a bull’s blood as a sin-offering
for himself and for the people.
But
before passing through the curtain,
the
high priest had a rope tied around him
just
in case, while he was in there,
he
encountered God face-to-face and died;
then
the other priests would be able to drag him out
without
having to go into
the sanctuary themselves.* (cf. P. Feldmeier)
The
Letter to the Hebrews
builds on this potent imagery.
Jesus
Christ is our great high priest.
And
he stands on our behalf before the Divine Presence—
not
drawing back the curtain of a temple made of stone,
but
piercing the veil between heaven and earth.
To
the Father, Christ offers—
in atonement for the sins of the world—
not
the blood of bulls and goats,
but
his own Precious Blood, beyond all price.
“This
is my blood of the covenant,”
he says at the Last Supper,
“which
will be shed for many.”
By
his perfect sacrifice,
Jesus reveals that those who approach God
do
not so much have to fear dying
as
they should come expecting a new life.
While
his own Passion
was, indeed, quite gruesome,
Christ
offers us communion
with his saving death and Resurrection
under
the common appearance
of bread and wine—
in
the familiar, comfortable context of a meal.
We
believe his blood becomes
really and truly present for us…
…but
there’s no gore, as at the temple.
I get
enough smirks from you
when I sprinkle you with holy water;
I
can only imagine the reaction
if
I were to sprinkle you with blood,
as Moses did the twelve tribes!
In Jesus,
the true Lamb,
Israel’s
long history of bloody sacrifice is fulfilled.
Perpetuating
his self-offering sacramentally in the Eucharist,
Christ
has made God infinitely more approachable
than
in the temple rites of old.
But
this incredible approachability—
being
able not only to see God and live,
but
to hold him in our hands, to receive him as our food and drink—
while
its one of the Eucharist’s greatest strengths,
is
also one of its greatest liabilities.
once observed
that
most people
set about going to church
in
much the same way
they would a pleasure cruise:
getting
on board like tourists
ready for the packaged excursion,
hoping
to enjoy
the program of entertainments,
if
not also take in
some lovely views along the way.
But
Dillard finds this perspective
most inappropriate.
To
her mind,
going to church
should be a whole lot more
like
heading out
on an expedition to the North Pole.
If the words
we dare to speak here are true,
and the rituals we enact
have
the capacity
to do that which they claim,
then participating in the
Mass
means embarking on
a much
more daring
and dangerous journey.
Dillard writes:
On
the whole, I do not find Christians…
sufficiently
sensible to conditions.
Does
anyone have the foggiest idea
what
sort of power we so blithely invoke?
Or,
as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it?
The
churches are children playing on the floor
with
their chemistry sets,
mixing
up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning.
It
is madness to wear ladies straw hats…to church;
we
should all be wearing crash helmets.
Ushers
should issue life preservers and signal flares;
they
should lash us to our pews. (Teaching a Stone to Talk)
How
often do we stop to realize the lofty mysteries
which
we are privileged to handle when we come to Mass?
Are
we conscious of the staggering power we invoke—and unleash—
when
we call upon the Lord at the altar?
We
do not need all the studies that have been done
to convince
us that many Catholics today
no
longer believe in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist;
we
can see it in our empty pews.
When—due
to falling attendance—
Mass
schedules change or churches close,
it’s
hard for me to fathom why so many otherwise faithful folks
can’t
make the switch to another time or another building
[though
we’ve experienced that very thing right here in this parish].
I
can understand the struggle of dealing with change…
…but
how can Catholics choose to live without the Eucharist?
And
if faith in this cornerstone of our religion had gotten so shaky,
then
neither should we be surprised
that
so many First Communions are also the last for quite awhile,
or that
the Church is repeatedly rocked by scandals,
or
that she’s rapidly loosing her voice—
losing
her place as a moral authority
in the
lives of individuals and of society.
All,
however, is not gloom and doom.
There
are signs of hope.
The
number of men studying for the priesthood in American seminaries
is
on the rise.
In
some parts of the country,
Catholics
are building new churches rather than closing old ones.
Even
right here at home,
when
we took a headcount at all the Masses last weekend,
it
was the highest attendance we’ve seen for an “ordinary” Sunday
in
the past two years.
I’m
not sure how to explain that…but it’s very encouraging!
Once
upon a time,
this
Sunday’s feast was marked by public processions.
I’ve
seen old black-and-white pictures from my home parish
where
thousands of Catholics on Corpus Christi
were
prayerfully marching through the streets of Plattsburgh
accompanying
their priest, who was carrying the Blessed Sacrament.
Even
just seen in photographs, that makes quite an impression!
It unmistakably
said to the entire community
that something very, VERY important was
being celebrated.
It’s
high time for us, once again, to take our faith out into the streets.
I,
for one, am convinced
that
if we could make our Catholic faith in the Eucharist
clear
and credible,
then
people would be crawling over each other to get to Mass.
So
how do we do that?
We
can begin by considering the manner in which we come to Mass.
(1)
How we dress for church says something about what we believe.
I’ve
more than once had people tell me after Mass
that
they’re headed home to change into nicer clothes
for
a party, or a meal out, or even to go shopping at the mall.
(2)
Getting to Mass a little early and staying until Mass is truly ended
are
other ways to show our faith in the Eucharist.
A
retired priest I once worked with regularly announced:
“I
should be the first one out of here!”
What
are we rushing in from…or rushing off to?
(3)
And how we approach the altar for Holy Communion
is another
thing to consider.
We’ve
gone from—just a few decades ago—
always
receiving on the tongue and on one’s knees at the altar rail
to often
being exceptionally casual
in
the way we take the Sacred Host.
We
should always handle the Lord’s Body
in
the same way we would handle gold dust,
for
it is, by far, more precious.
But
the witness we give to our faith in the Eucharist
must
also go well beyond these four walls.
I recently
read a reflection online by an adult convert to Catholicism.
In
his earlier days as a Protestant,
he hated
Catholics for what he thought was our bad theology.
But
after studying Catholicism carefully,
he
ended up joining the Church precisely because of her doctrine:
teachings
which made good sense to him—more than all the others.
But
there’s a part of him, he confessed,
that
still hates Catholics…even though he’s now one of them.
What
he hates are the Church’s “robot dissidents”:
not
those vocal Catholics who picket on the street corner
or
write letters to the editor
because
they take exception to some dogma or another;
what
troubles him are—as he writes—
“those
people who go [through] their life,
[sleepwalking]**—immune
from Catholic teaching
and
behaving in ways that the Church characterizes as gravely sinful,
but
still calling themselves Catholic, [still] taking the Eucharist,
apparently
oblivious to the logical inconsistency
between
the two acts.” (The Daily Eudemon, 10/27/08)
What
we do here at Mass
and
how we lead the rest of our life
really
and truly matters
when it comes to what we do here.
Non-Catholics
can see this about us;
we
must recognize it about ourselves.
I
am glad, as a priest today,
that
I don’t need to tie a rope around myself
for
fear that I should die
whenever
approaching the presence of God on the altar.
But
I look forward with great hope to that day
when
Catholics are tempted
to lash themselves to their pews
because,
in the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ,
God
has chosen to dwell right here in our midst
and
they can’t even begin to imagine
living apart from him.
*This story about the rope is not found in the Bible, and may be apocryphal...but it's still a great story.
**Author's original word: somnambulist. (Yes, I had to look it up, too!)
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