An old Russian chronicle called "The Tale of Bygone
Years” tells how, at the end of the first millennium (in the year 988,
to be exact), Vladimir, the Prince of Kiev, made a decision that would
have profound consequences for the peoples of Russia and the Ukraine.
Prince Vladimir was a
pagan – which made him fair game for missionaries and proselytizers,
whether Christian, Jewish, or Muslim. They were all eager for him
to give up his pagan ways and convert to their religion and, of course,
to bring his people along with him.
So, the prince decided
to do some investigating. He sent a delegation abroad to observe their
respective worship services. When the delegation arrived in
Constantinople, they entered the great cathedral church of Hagia Sophia
and witnessed the solemn liturgy of the Mass. As the story goes,
they quickly wrote this report back to Prince Vladimir in Kiev:
"We knew not whether we were in heaven or on earth, for on earth there
is no such splendor or such beauty, and we are at a loss how to describe
what we witnessed. We know only that God dwells there among the
people!"
Legend has it that the
beginnings of Christianity in the Ukraine and in Russia can be traced to
that one splendid celebration of the liturgy in the Cathedral of
Constantinople. So, never underestimate the
power of liturgy! At its best, liturgy draws back the veil that hides
heaven from earth, blurs the barrier separating time from eternity. At
its best, liturgy gives us a glimpse of God.
Take today’s liturgy.
Today, and every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we get to touch
eternity. Every time we break the bread and eat it; every time we bless
the cup of wine and share it among ourselves, we are touching divinity,
tasting divinity – receiving as our food and drink the Body and Blood of
Christ given as food for our journey. In this and every Eucharistic
liturgy we are meant to experience the awesome presence of God or, to
use the words of the Prince Vladimir story, we come to know that “here
God dwells among the people.”
Given the greatness of
this sacrament, then, is it any wonder that we lavish such care on the
way we celebrate it? Is it any wonder that down through the ages
people have built great churches and towering cathedrals, thinking no
effort too great, no cost too much? Is it any wonder that we
surround the celebration of the Eucharist with only the finest and the
best that human effort and human genius can provide whether in music,
architecture, art, artifact, or ritual? Why would we ever settle
for second best?
The Corpus Christi
procession that has become such a marvelous tradition here at St. James
is yet one more sign of just how seriously we take all this, one more
sign of our belief and our joy in the real and abiding presence of Jesus
who comes so close to his people in simple sacramental signs: in bread
that is his Body broken for us, and in the cup that holds his blood
poured out for us.
But, my friends, Corpus
Christi celebrates and speaks of not just the blessed sacrament of
Christ’s Body and Blood, the Eucharist; it celebrates and speaks of
another sacrament, too - the Church – which, while we may not always
think of it this way, is itself a sacrament, the sacrament of Christ,
the living embodiment of the presence of Christ. It is no accident
at all that Church and Eucharist have the same name. Both are Corpus
Christi, both are the Body of Christ. And you can’t have one without the
other. Without the Church, the holy People of God, there can be no
Eucharist because Jesus makes himself sacramentally present only when
the Church gathers for prayer in his name. But the reverse is also
true: without the Eucharist there can be no Church because the Eucharist
builds up the Church and nourishes it - nourishes us who, without the
Eucharist, would soon die of hunger.
My friends, I am not
playing with words here. I am pointing to a profound mystery. Our
Catholic faith affirms the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist,
yes, but no matter how great our faith in that Presence of Jesus, if his
presence is not every bit as real for us when it comes to people - all
people without exception, but especially the poor – then we are
involving ourselves in an glaring contradiction.
In one of his sermons,
the great St. John Chrysostom, Bishop of Constantinople and Father of
the Church, said all this in a most memorable way. “Do you wish to
honor the body of Christ?” he asked. “Do not neglect it when you
find it naked or in need. Do not do it homage here in the church
with gold and incense and silk fabrics, only to neglect it outside where
it suffers cold and nakedness.”
Mother Teresa of
Calcutta said the same thing in a slightly different, but no less
striking, way. “The Body of Christ,” she once wrote, “is one. In
the Eucharist we find Christ under the appearances of bread and wine.
And each day of our lives we find Christ under the appearances of flesh
and blood. It is the same Christ!”
Make no mistake, my
friends. Mother Teresa is right: it is the same Christ!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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