Love: The Bond of Perfection

“And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profits me nothing. (1 Cor. 13:3)”

            With all this talk of suffering and sacrifice as a means to grow closer to God, to overcome sin, to follow Christ and to be made worthy of the kingdom of God, one might think, “Well, then, why aren’t all the poor, the disabled and the ill immediately shooting up to Heaven, since they are in constant suffering?” My personal answer is simply, “In some degree, they are.” After all, Jesus did say, “For to such belong the kingdom of God.” And again, he said, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven.” Must we enumerate the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus’ words in the Beatitudes to prove it further? “Blessed are the poor …”

            What are we really asking about suffering, though? We really want to know the motive and the essence of suffering. “What makes suffering worth any value at all?” Why is suffering a means to obtain grace, virtue, and glory, even eternal life, first for ourselves and then for others? Is the Blessed Trinity a sadistic, blood thirsty God, who only longs for blood and tears?

            Certainly not. “Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ (Matt. 12:7)” This is what Jesus told the Pharisees, as they judged sinners as worthless, and as they worked towards outward show of holiness, while ignoring care for hurting people. In another place he would tell them, “But woe to you Pharisees! for you tithe mint and rue and every herb, and neglect justice and the love of God; these you ought to have done, without neglecting the others. (Luke 11:42 NRSVCE)”

            We see in Christ’s teaching, then, the need of love above all things, as the foundation to all else we do: “I desire mercy.” It is not the suffering itself or the sacrifice in and of itself. It is love that gives any credit at all, any merit, any value, to our sufferings and our sacrifices. “If I have not love, I am nothing … it profits me nothing,” as St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians. St. Thérèse de Lisieux wrote, “Miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smiling look, there by a kindly word; always doing the smallest right and doing it all for love.” “Without love, deeds, even the most brilliant, count as nothing,” that Doctor of the Church wrote in another place.

God takes pleasure not in our pain, but in our love, through our faith and hope. When he sees our acts of love, in self-sacrifice, no matter how small or glorious, he takes great pleasure in that love – our love for others and for God, who is our life. These are pure offerings, through the one, holy sacrifice of Jesus Christ, the Redeemer, who is love itself. “Father … All life, all holiness comes from you, through your Son,” the priest prays at Holy Mass. “For God is love. (1 John 4:8b)”

            And here we come to the turning point, the center of love – Christ himself. In him, we find something quite different from the “love” the rest of the world knows. The love of and from God is something much greater than previously known. That is, love demands sacrifice. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son. (John 3:16)” “In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. (1 John 4:10 NRSVCE)”

            Therefore, Christ commanded us to love others as he has loved us; this is the new commandment. Now that he has shown us what true love, the love of God, looks like, he wants us to do the same. He wants us to “live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. (Eph. 5:2 NRSVCE)” Thus, St. John could write clearly, “We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. (1 John 3:16 NRSVCE)” Above all these last writings, Jesus said, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. (John 15:13 NRSVCE)”

            Christ’s new command is woven throughout the rest of his teachings: feed the hungry; clothe the naked; care for the sick; die to your self; take up your cross; lose your life. Can these be construed as anything but acts of self-sacrifice in love of God and neighbor? In this Way, we can be little Christs (the Greek meaning of ‘Christians’) by offering our lives up to God in love for the good of others, even their salvation.

            The Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of Mary just passed (June 28^th). Let us go to our Mother, who is so pure, and learn from her. She led a very humble life, as a wife and mother. She gave up her reputation. She gave up her desires for comfort. She instead was the first disciple of Christ in love, by his grace, going even to the foot of the Cross. There she suffered a great martyrdom, and a sword pierced through her own heart, too. (Luke 2:35) She offered herself as a living sacrifice in the most perfect of ways, as an obedient daughter of the Lord, as his handmaid. From sweeping the floor and caring for her child to suffering alongside the Savior of the world, she gave her self in love to God perfectly. Her Immaculate Heart is the highest model of love after Christ our Lord, who laid down his life for us.

           

“Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. (Col. 3:14 NRSVCE)”

O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.

Amen. +

The Abuse He Endured: Our Medicine

            This last week, I heard an audio recording of Archbishop (hopefully, soon to be Blessed) Fulton J. Sheen. In his talk on the humanity of Christ, he said, “God took his own medicine.” He was referring to Jesus in this statement. Jesus, the God-Man, who is the Great Physician, took his own medicine that he prescribed to the human race. What was that medicine? It was, and is, love itself.

            “By his wounds, you have been healed,” reads St. Peter’s first epistle. (2:24) The context of the verse, must not be ignored. St. Peter is writing to Christians to endure suffering patiently, while doing good in Christ. He is asking them to remember Christ’s sufferings. More than that, he writes in the beginning of the same passage, “For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his footsteps. (1 Pet. 2:21 NRSVCE)”

            Here is the medicine in raw form: “Love one another as I have loved you. (John 13:34)” To his disciples, Jesus laid out the prescription in the new commandment. It is not an easy pill to swallow, and it certainly can’t be sugar coated. Logically, if we deny and ignore the medicine that we are to take ourselves for our healing, then we end up denying the same medicine that the Lord himself took (not for his healing, but for ours). I mean, as said the last post, “We cannot have Christ without the Cross.” Impossible.

            We cannot have love, mercy, justice, peace, hope, or healing for others or for ourselves if will not take up the cross ourselves. And Jesus, who is love itself and is the pioneer of our faith (Heb. 12:2), endured the cross to make the way for us. By accepting his Spirit in our baptisms, we have received the new life. That life is the life of love. True love means to do exactly what Christ did for us – to lay down his life for his friends.

            Christ lived as a human, tempted just as we are. Yet, he endured in obedience even to the point of a humiliating death on a cross. Christ lived in the flesh, taking on disabilities, diseases, demons and death itself. He was betrayed by his best friends, his chosen allies. They would not even keep company with him, while he sweat blood in anxious foresight of suffering. He was abandoned by them in the dead of night. He endured slanders and false accusations. He endured a brutal and near-mortal flogging. He was crushed under the weight of someone pressing a crown of thorns into his scalp, to the bone. He endured mocking, spitting, punches and blows, blasphemies, insults, and complete humiliation. Then, in almost complete exhaustion, he willingly carried his cross as commanded to the place of his own torture at the hands of Roman guards. Finally, he died in great agony, while even a criminal beside him, dying a similar, torturous and humiliating death, still had the pride to mock that innocent Christ.

            Now, imagine this terrible scene: In the midst of one of his best friends and his own mother, who is also enduring a great martyrdom (Luke 2:35) at the sight of her own son’s humiliation, torture and death-sentence … in the midst of women crying out of compassion and men screaming out of anger and hatred at him … while his flesh is torn over his back and arms, while his eye is swollen shut from blows, while his blood is spilled on the ground, while his sweat mingles with that blood, while his clothes have been stolen and his near nakedness revealed, while his heart breaks for compassion on poor, ill, and forgotten sinners, he looks at you under the weight of the cross itself, too heavy to carry alone. He says, “For you. I love you. Be healed. Follow me.”

            “Follow me.”

            “Love covers a multitude of sins. (1 Pet. 4:8)” “[…] Jesus also suffered outside the city gate in order to sanctify the people by his own blood. Let us then go to him outside the camp and bear the abuse he endured. (Heb. 13:12,13 NRSVCE)”

            Herein lies our complete and unimaginable healing. First, we are sanctified by his blood, washed clean, forgiven. Secondly, we are called to follow him in that perfect love, for God and for others. We are to walk in Christ’s footsteps, to give up our wills for the perfect will of God, which is always one of love. We are to pour out our lives as a living sacrifice of love for the people in our lives. This is what it means to be a saint.

It begins with the little things. It begins with the smiles, even when we don’t feel like it, like Blessed Mother Teresa used to tell us. It begins with the kind moments of generosity. It begins with the moments of keeping our mouths shut in silence, even when we are slandered or falsely accused. It begins in having mercy on others, even when they sin against us. It begins with performing our duties, even when tired. It begins, too, in a small prayer of thanksgiving to God despite any circumstances. For God is good, and he earnestly desires our healing and our peace.

           

            If you are reading this on the Feast of Corpus Christi (the Feast of the Body and Blood of Christ), or you are to attend Mass soon, remember these things. Meditate on what it means for Christ to give you his precious, precious Body and Blood. He gave up his life, so that you may have it. And it is present, right there, in the Eucharist. He is Jesus, our Lord and our God. He is love.

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.

Body of Christ, save me.

Blood of Christ, inebriate me.

Water from the side of Christ, wash me.

Passion of Christ, strengthen me.

O good Jesus, hear me.

Within Thy wounds, hide me.

Separated from Thee let me never be.

From the malignant enemy, defend me.

At the hour of death, call me.

To come to Thee, bid me,

That I may praise Thee in the company

Of Thy Saints, for all eternity.

Amen. +

For some Scripture meditation, I encourage you to read Hebrews 12 and 13, as well as 1 Peter, especially chapters 1 and 2.

Suffering: How Sweet the Sound, Part II

... Continuation of Part I

            St. Paul wrote to Timothy, “Share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus. […] If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him. (2 Tim. 2:3,12-13 NRSVCE)” In 2 Thessalonians, he wrote, “Therefore we ourselves boast of you among the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith during all your persecutions and the afflictions that you are enduring. This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, and is intended to make you worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering. (1:4-5 NRSVCE)”

            Worthy of the kingdom of God? Yes! The story of the Gospel is so much grander than what most make it out to be. That is, Jesus does not want to merely forgive us of our sins and save our soul from death; he wants to draw us up into himself. He wants to make us partakers and worthy sharers in his power, his righteousness, his glory and even his work of redemption. He wants to make us worthy heirs of his kingdom. He wants to actually heal us in our entire being, to restore us to our original design. He wants to “hit the reset button,” so to speak, on humanity by his life, death and resurrection.

            Through his once-for-all sacrifice, and his resurrection, we are able to literally become like him. Our forgiveness is obtained in baptism. From there, we are new creations and placed in sanctifying grace, just as Adam and Eve were without original sin. (The reset button applied). So, then, by the indwelling of the Spirit (as mentioned in my last post), we become partakers in the divine nature (2 Pet. 1:4), and are given the power to be holy as he his holy. (1 Pet. 1:15-16)

St. Peter wrote, “Since therefore Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves also with the same intention (for whoever has suffered in the flesh has finished with sin), so as to live for the rest of your earthly life no longer by human desires but by the will of God. (1 Pet. 4:1-2 NRSVCE)” Earlier, he wrote, “For it is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps. (1 Pet. 2:19-21)” Here, we can clearly see that not only is holiness possible to the point of being “finished with sin,” but also our suffering conforms us to his image and is our path to God.

When sin entered the world, so did suffering and death. Christ, though, became man, and took on the Enemy by using the very consequences and tools of evil to overcome evil itself. “He was obedient unto death. (Phil. 2:8)” First, he overcame sin by his obedience to the will of the Father. Then, he conquered suffering by enduring it willingly. Then, he overcame death by his resurrection. In doing all of this, he turned the very consequences of sin (suffering and death) into the means by which evil is conquered. The Cross itself, an instrument of suffering and death, became the source of our salvation and life.

This is true, not only in his Cross, but our crosses: “whoever does not take up his cross and follow me, is not worthy of me. (Matt. 10:38)” There it is again: “worthy!” Our crosses only have meaning in his Cross. Nevertheless, our crosses, too, are instruments of suffering; they are sources of suffering as we give up our will for the place of his will. We must “die to self,” and endure to the end. “For he will repay according to each one’s deeds: to those who by patiently doing good seek for glory and honor and immortality, he will give eternal life. (Rom. 2:6-7 NRSVCE)” This is what the Church means by teaching that Christ redeemed suffering; he made our suffering to have saving value – for ourselves and for others.

By dying to self and taking up our crosses, we can grow closer to Christ, sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in obedience and holiness. We can also offer up that suffering as a sacrifice. So, St. Paul could write, “ I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church. (Col. 1:24 NRSVCE)” If we suffer in love, while doing good, we can offer every single pain to God through Jesus Christ, the Redeemer. And in the end, we will receive “an eternal weight of glory” (2 Cor. 4:(17)) that will be given once we hear, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

Always, then, offer every moment of suffering to God the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit. Never declare those who suffer to be worthless or without hope, for they, too, can receive an eternal weight of glory. No suffering is too great to be unredeemable. God can redeem all things through Christ our Lord and his Cross – even our greatest of trials, sufferings, and losses, especially when they are offered up in love to God.

As Pope Francis recently said, “We cannot have Christ without the Cross.” So, then, let us hear what the saints have told us and follow in their footsteps:

If God gives you an abundant harvest of trials, it is a sign of great holiness which He desires you to attain. Do you want to become a great saint? Ask God to send you many sufferings. The flame of Divine Love never rises higher than when fed with the wood of the Cross, which the infinite charity of the Savior used to finish His sacrifice. All the pleasures of the world are nothing compared with the sweetness found in the gall and vinegar offered to Jesus Christ. That is, hard and painful things endured for Jesus Christ and with Jesus Christ.

--Saint Ignatius of Loyola

If the soul would know the merit which one acquires in temptations suffered in patience and conquered, it would be tempted to say: "Lord, send me temptations.”

--St. Padre Pio

Let us understand that God is a physician, and that suffering is a medicine for salvation, not a punishment for damnation.

--St. Augustine

For Jesus Christ I am prepared to suffer still more.

--Saint Maximilian Kolbe

Suffering: How Sweet the Sound, Part I

            In the world, and even in certain realms of Christianity, suffering is seen only as an evil to be avoided. Many religions devote themselves to the transcendence of suffering, or even in the elimination of suffering altogether. Faiths like Buddhism and Hinduism seek to obtain the ultimate end of freedom from change and suffering. The secular world often attempts to avoid suffering through hedonistic endeavors: pleasure, pleasure, and pleasure. (Just turn on cable television to find it). Some ecclesial communities of Christianity even look at Jesus’ suffering and death as a purely substitutive event: “I don’t have to suffer, because he did it in my place.” The Catholic faith, though, has a very different perspective on suffering. The Catholic faith testifies that suffering has been redeemed by the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and is redemptive itself.

            In my previous time as a non-Catholic Christian, I recognized suffering as a time to go to Jesus for relief, for comfort, for healing. I recognized suffering as a consequence of the sin of the world. I recognized suffering as a means of “being a good witness” to the love of God. But suffering was something not to be desired. It certainly was something of which I longed to be free. When suffering came along, there was a constant question of “Why.”

            I saw the same among my fellow non-Catholic Christians. While there were some who bore suffering gracefully, many were of the opinion that Jesus could not come back fast enough to relieve us of this world’s suffering. The answer given to the question of “Why” was usually that already mentioned: We live in a fallen, imperfect world; we will only be free from suffering in Heaven; we know that God can use our suffering as a witness to others of our joy in Christ.” That was mostly the extent to which the meaning and value of suffering went, within the Christian communities I grew up. (Even those Christians dying or being imprisoned for the faith were mostly, or only, witnesses to Christ’s love and the truth of the Gospel, in this perspective).

            The fact is that these are mostly all near true statements from the Christian community. But the real story, as told by the Catholic Church through her saints and Scriptures, is that the answer to suffering given by the Cross of Christ, does not stop there. Catholics come nowhere close in similarity to the rest of the world in the understanding of suffering. Some other faiths, like Christian Science, the New Age movement and other Eastern religions want to deny the ultimate reality of suffering. Others want to find a way to avoid it or annihilate it, by means of remedy, whether medical or spiritual. Those who believe such things usually condemn the body as a burden, and worth very little. The secular world is even trying to rid the earth of those who suffer: the chronically ill, the dying, and babies to be born into poverty or disability. This is all under the guise of a false compassion.

            St. Faustina wrote in her Diary that, in a private revelation, Jesus told her the following:

My daughter, I want to instruct you on how you are to rescue souls through sacrifice and prayer. You will save more souls through prayer and suffering than will a missionary through his teachings and sermons alone. I want to see you as a sacrifice of living love, which only then carries weight before Me. […] Then will I find you a pleasing sacrifice, a holocaust full of sweetness and fragrance. And great will be your power for whomever you intercede. (1767)

The teaching office of the Church has declared this revelation of hers to not be in contradiction to the Faith. It certainly reminds us of the Scriptures. “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. (Rom. 12:1 NRSVCE)” And, “[…] pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. (James 5:16 NRSVCE)”

            The Catholic perspective of suffering is viewed through the suffering of the Son of God, the God-Man, and his resurrection. Pope St. John Paul II wrote, in his encyclical Salvifici Doloris, “In bringing about the Redemption through suffering, Christ has also raised human suffering to the level of the Redemption. Thus each man, in his suffering, can also become a sharer in the redemptive suffering of Christ. (19)” “[Suffering] is something good, before which the Church bows down in reverence with all the depth of her faith in the Redemption. (Ibid., 24)”

            The Church, from the very moment of Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross, while his mother Mary and “the beloved disciple” stood at the foot of Calvary, has known that Christ made available his entire redeeming work to his Church, which is his body. By this, I mean that he did not just redeem our souls; he redeemed our suffering, too. He made it so that we could participate in his suffering, sharers in his sacrifice, and partakers of the divine mission to “give up one’s life for one’s friends.”

To keep reading on the saving value of our personal suffering, read Part II: 

Veni Creator Spiritus - On the Feast of Pentecost/ Catholic Assurance

            Pentecost is here! The Spirit is come like a dove, to create, to renew and to imbue love. He has come to accomplish the work of the Blessed Trinity that he started in us. (Phil. 1:6) Thank God that it does not end in one moment of justification. His work does not end at our baptism into Christ. The work of the Spirit continues, and does not stop – must not stop – until we reach the feet of Jesus, and him saying, “Well done.”

            St. Paul, inspired by the Holy Spirit himself, wrote “[you] were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of his glory. (Eph. 1:13, 14 NRSVCE)” In this, we know that those who have been baptized and confirmed in the Holy Spirit have received the thrice holy God into their hearts.  He himself is the promise of our final salvation.

            For Catholics, this does mean peace and hope. “My peace I leave you. (John 14:27)” The peace and hope, though, do not come in an assurance of our salvation no matter what happens between baptism and death. Instead, the peace and hope are an infinite well given by the Spirit for the struggle of the Christian life. St. Paul did not even have the assurance of his personal destination that some have presumed for themselves:

I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 3:10-14 NRSVCE)

I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings. […] but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified. (1 Cor. 9:23, 27 NRSVCE)

And, yet, we know that St. Paul had great hope. He knew that “if we endure, we will also reign with him. (2 Tim. 2:12)” He knew that God is faithful, “for he cannot deny himself. (2 Tim. 2:13)” God’s very nature is to be faithful.

The hope of a Catholic is not in anything else but the power of God, through the indwelling Holy Spirit given to us. Our hope is that God actually makes the way for us to “share in his holiness. (Heb 12:10)” This is the miracle of the Christian life! He has justified us, through faith, by his pure grace. Then, he made us to be partakers in the Divine Nature! He made us new creations in Christ.

To my ears, this all sounds like cliché, unfortunately. So, I have to refresh these thoughts in my mind as realities. What the Catholic Church means by all those wonderful statements I just made, is that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit wants to indwell us to actually make us holy in word and deed, not just call us holy. He doesn’t want to declare us holy; He wants to give us the power to be holy and perfect, “as your Father in Heaven is perfect. (Matt. 5:48)”

St. Paul wrote to the Philippians, “And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless… (1:9,10)” The Catholic understanding of the Christian life is one of constant conversion towards Christ, the image of God. Jesus said to his disciples that it is better that he go to the Father, since then he would be able to send the Spirit to us. (John 16:7) The Spirit is the gift of God for us to receive his power, just as the Apostles did at Pentecost. “You will receive power. (Acts 1:8)” The power of the Spirit living in us is the life of Christ living through us.

Christ in us means death in our bodies. It doesn’t mean happiness and satisfaction. It does not mean wealth and health. It means love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. (Gal. 5:22,23) It means endurance, “so that when you have done the will of God, you may receive what was promised. (Heb. 10:36)”

Scripture speaks for itself plainly on our hope and on our need for struggle to attain that hope:

For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ—if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him. (Rom. 8:15-17 NRSVCE)

If we suffer with him, St. Paul tacked on there! If we suffer with Christ, we will be glorified with him.

This is such a high calling and hope to which we are called! In and through Christ, we can share in his sufferings (his Passion! You know, that thing that brought salvation for all of humankind?), share in his holiness, and then share in his glory -- even sit on his throne, as Revelation 3:21 says. What a hope! What a promise in the Holy Spirit.

So, in Genesis the Holy Spirit was creating the universe, then humans broke that creation with sin. Later, Jesus, the Son of God, lived, died, was resurrected, ascended to heaven, and sent his Spirit to those who keep his commands. (John 14:21-23) The Spirit is the one who brings to completion the work that was started at the beginning of time. The Creator Spirit is the one who comes to us, to live in us as the Church and as individuals, to bring us back to life. He comes to bring us hope. He comes to bring us peace. He comes, most of all, to bring us charity – love. He is the love between the Father and the Son. He is the love of God in us. He wants to perfect us in righteousness. He wants to make us perfect in charity and sharers of his perfect, infinite love – the Trinitarian life.

The Catholic assurance, the Catholic hope, is that he can do it.

Veni Creator Spiritus.

Send forth Thy Spirit, and they shall be created.

 And Thou shalt renew the face of the earth. Amen.

Mater Eucharistiae – Mother of the Eucharist

             This weekend, two feasts occur here in the United States: the Feast of the Visitation (Saturday) and the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord (Sunday in most places).  They are related. Specifically, I would like to briefly meditate on the relation between the two feasts, as they have to do with the flesh of our Lord, his Body and his Blood.

            First, we have the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary unto St. Elizabeth. It is in this moment when we first hear of Mary as the “Mother of God.” Surprised? We read in the Gospel reading for the feast, Luke 1:39-56, that St. Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and declared, “How does this happen to me, that the Mother of my Lord should come to me? (1:43 NAB)” The word Lord in this verse is the same word in the Old Testament that was translated and used for God (YHWH) – Κύριος.

            We see then, by the Holy Spirit, St. Elizabeth recognizing Mary as the Mother of God, in the flesh. She has become the Christ-bearer to the world. “The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. (Jn. 1:14)” Jesus is fully God, and fully man. The two natures are permanently inseparable. God eternally united himself to humankind by being born of a woman. (Gal. 4:4)

            Fast forward to the end of Christ’s time on earth, after his resurrection. He was resurrected in the flesh, glorified. He ate, he drank, he cooked, and he also walked through locked doors and appeared in different places a little faster than normal. Then, he ascended to Heaven. This is where the Feast of the Ascension comes in.

            Jesus, like mentioned in other posts, did not go up to be ethereally united to his Father. He didn’t all of a sudden cease to be human. He didn’t shed his body from his soul. Instead, he remained human, and went up to be with the Father. There is no end to his humanity. There he sits, at the right hand of the Father, interceding for us on our behalf, guiding and nourishing his Church.

            Come back down to earth now. Christ’s Real Presence is in the Eucharist. Every day, the Mass is celebrated here on earth. Bread and wine become the Body and Blood of the Lord. There He is! Look! On the altar! The Lord! God made man.

            Some Christians deny the Eucharist. In doing so, they ultimately deny the Incarnation. If God became man, what is to stop him from being in bread and wine? I sometimes hear the argument that God cannot be contained in a host of bread, a mere wafer, in a box (the tabernacle). Is this not the same thing that the people of Israel did during Jesus’ time? When he was on earth saying things like, “Before Abraham was, I am,” and declaring himself the Son of God, even God himself, they did not believe him. “Impossible! Blasphemy! Idolatry!” they cried. Then they crucified him.

Today, and also for the past two thousand years, we have the same situation: Jesus is blasphemed as not being fully present in the Eucharist. “Impossible! Blasphemy! Idolatry!” they cry. And, yet, they do not realize that Christ, the Lord, does the same thing now, each day, that he did when he became man at his Incarnation: he humbles himself. “I am the Bread of Life,” he says. “This is my body, which is given up for you. This is my blood of the new covenant.”

St. Ignatius, a direct disciple of the Apostle St. John, wrote in his letter to the Smyrnaeans:

Take note of those who hold heterodox opinions on the grace of Jesus Christ which has come to us, and see how contrary their opinions are to the mind of God… They abstain from the Eucharist and from prayer, because they do not confess that the Eucharist is the Flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, Flesh which suffered for our sins and which the Father, in his goodness, raised up again. They who deny the gift of God are perishing in their disputes.

           

His ways are not our ways, and his thoughts are not our thoughts. God has chosen things of this world to confound the wise. The Incarnation and the Eucharist are the perfect ways of God.

            The Mother of our Lord, then, is just as much the Mother of the Eucharist. “Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones.” Mary gave flesh to the Son of God and, therefore, to the Eucharist. In accepting the gift of her Son, the Christ, she gave him to the world, and especially to the Church. And, as we know from the Ascension, Christ’s humanity did not end when he went to the Father. His humanity continues in heaven, and just as much, it continues on earth in the Real Presence of the Eucharist.

In Communion, we receive the Son of God and the Son of Mary at once. And in giving us his Body and Blood, we become partakers in his flesh and blood, which was given for us, as well as his divine nature. We are united with Christ, as brothers and sisters in the Spirit. We are united with Christ as children of the Father, and we are united with Christ in the order of grace as the children of Mary. When we partake in the Eucharist, then, let us give thanks (εὐχαριστία) to God for our Mother, who is blessed among women. For as long as Jesus' humanity does not end, nor will her Motherhood end for us.

Mater Eucharistiae, ora pro nobis.

St. Ignatius, pray for us.

Amen. +