Corpus Christi
10 June 2012
Ex 24:3-8
Ps 116
Heb 9:11-15
Mk 14:12-16.22-26
Jesuits are described as contemplatives in action. Unlike our Trappist brothers who live in
monastic cloister and silence contemplating the word of God, we move around a
lot. Were you to have asked my mom how
many phone numbers and addresses I had in my early years in the Society she
would have laughed. In the beginning she
carefully erased the old one before putting the new one in her address
book. Then she simply scribbled it--in
pencil--on an old sticky note figuring that she wouldn't need it for long
before another move.
Jerome Nadal noted that the Jesuit’s cloister is the
highway. Our work, oftentimes very mobile
work, drives our prayer life and our prayer life, oftentimes entered into
while on the move, drives our work. Overall,
action seems to trump contemplation much of the time.
It is a feast such as this, the Solemnity of the Body and
Blood of Christ, or the Feast of Corpus Christi, that reminds us of the
contemplative side of our lives. This feast
pulls us into the contemplative because it doesn’t recall an
event.
Our liturgical calendar is crammed with feasts that recall
specific events in the history of salvation.
Christmas.
Easter.
The Ascension.
The Annunciation.
These feasts recall specific moments in the history of the
world. We can close our eyes and, with
only a little imagination, see the events unfold on an internal movie
screen. They are events with a narrative
flow. There is a story that can be told
and retold. We can, and indeed Ignatian
prayer demands, that we place ourselves in the action, that we participate in that
history and allow that history to form us. On Corpus Christi, however, we have to sit back. In silence.
There is no script. There is no
“story line.” We are forced to be less active, at least for a bit, and more contemplative.
What do we contemplate?
We contemplate the gift of Christ truly and substantially
present in the Eucharist. It is overwhelming to consider that Christ is present in the bread and wine that we
receive and in the Eucharist that we adore on the altar.
For some Christ’s real presence in the Eucharist is a
stumbling block. They can understand
symbol. They can understand simile. They can understand metaphor. They can even understand allusion. But they
can’t seem to understand the meaning of real.
It’s a pity.
We heard in the first reading how the blood of animals was
used to ratify the covenant God forged with Moses. Blood is the ultimate seal on a
promise. How many of us sealed some kind
of childhood or adolescent pact with our own blood?
We hear in the second reading, "He entered once for all
into the sanctuary . . . with HIs own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption."
In the first reading we heard how the people vowed, as Moses
sprinkled them with the blood of covenant,
"All that the Lord has said we will heed and do." Of course we know that things didn't quite
work out that way. Thus Jesus is
mediator of the new covenant to deliver us from the transgressions under the
first covenant.
Commenting on today's gospel would be an absurd attempt to
gild the lily. We will hear "This
is my body . . . This is my blood . . ."
in the words of institution during the consecration. Listen carefully.
Today we recall the great gift of the Body and Blood of
Christ. Real. Substantial.
And transubstantial. With that in
mind we can only sit back in stunned silence and gratitude and say with the
psalmist:
"I am your servant you have loosed my bonds."
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