Body and Blood of Christ - Homily 3

Homily 3 - 2018

The image that has stayed with me all this past week has been the obvious jubilation on the faces of the Irish crowds after the abortion referendum. I wonder if their rejoicing reflected a sense of freedom from the power of the Irish bishops over both governments and the faithful in general.

I can understand that rejection of the Church’s power. What the bishops there, for far too long, seemed to be interested in was to control people’s behaviour by manipulating governments. Yet enforced behaviour is not morality. Legally enforced conformity is far from personal conversion. I do not think God is interested in mere conformity.

The Church’s concern should be the formation of mature consciences. That requires much more delicate and patient nurturing of people’s insight into, and appreciation and respect for, the values of human life and dignity. By all means, “Yes” to my life and my dignity - and not just to mine but to ours, to everyone’s. “Yes” to my rights, but not just to my rights - also to my responsibilities to you. “Yes” to my freedom, but not just mine - to ours, to everyone’s.

In the Irish context, after the clerical abuse debacle of recent years, the bishops need to regain credibility if they are to succeed in that mission and to prioritise conversion over power.. The bishops need to listen to people’s concerns, and to listen respectfully and compassionately. They need to allow people time for people’s insights to develop, even to allow them to change their minds. They need genuinely to love people, and to communicate that to them somehow. It is not enough ... it was never enough ... for them or for anyone just to know the law, to know the Church’s teachings and its dogmas. The bishops themselves need conversion, on-going, never finished, conversion.

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Body and Blood of Christ. During Jesus’ discourse at his Last Supper, he invited us to “live in him”, and to allow him to “live in us”. He spoke of a beautiful intimacy that is real now but will be ever more real later, when we enjoy the clarity and intensity of eternal life.

There is more. In the Eucharist we eat the Body of Jesus. That is saying something else. My body is me in my world, my world of people – in all my relationships, living under the same government, in real neighbourhoods, in all the practical nitty-gritty of our lives. With my body, I eat the Body of Christ. We become what we eat; our bodies become the food we eat. I find it fascinating that the risen Christ still carried the wounds of his crucifixion. Through the practical nitty-gritty of his life, he transforms the practical nitty-gritty of our lives, with our various histories, our pasts and our presents. 

At the Last Supper, after Jesus took the loaf of bread and said the blessing, he broke the bread. He then said that the broken bread was his Body. He gave that broken body to them to eat. That is what we say “amen” to at every Eucharist. Likewise we say “Amen” to the blood “shed for many”. His body was broken; his blood was shed - because in Jesus’ case, unconditional love, all-inclusive love, did not go down well with those who were doing well with the status quo and its injustices and inequities. Love had its price; justice had its price; equity had its price.

That, however, is not the whole picture. Loving is not always costly. You may have noticed Jesus’ cryptic remark in today’s Gospel: “I shall not drink of the fruit of the vine until the day I drink it new in the Kingdom of God.” Love is also - especially – life, Kingdom life. It is the life, the mutual loving, of the Trinity God. No wonder that loving is also beautiful, wonderful, fulfilling, enjoyable, sometimes even ecstatic.

If we live each Mass, alert to what we are doing, alert to what we are letting ourselves into, it becomes increasingly relevant to our responsible living in this mixed-up world of ours where, as experience attests, our loving can be costly yet wonderfully fulfilling.