How God Changed My Mind (about Communion)

The Gospel of John 6 is a difficult teaching. It is the Source and Summit of the Catholic Faith. It is a dividing line between Protestantism and Catholicism.

Each convert from Protestantism must wrestle with this passage. Should it be taken literally? Or should it be considered merely a metaphor?

My epiphany - my moment of Truth - came in the summer of 2004, when I compared John 6 to Our Lord's parables. In Luke 8, we read . . .

"A sower went out to sow his seed. As he sowed, some fell on the edge of the path and was trampled on; and the birds of the air ate it up. Some seed fell on rock, and when it came up it withered away, having no moisture. Some seed fell amongst thorns and the thorns grew with it and choked it. And some seed fell into rich soil and grew and produced its crop a hundredfold." Saying this he cried, "Listen, anyone who has ears to hear!"
His disciples asked him what this parable might mean, and he said, "The mysteries of the kingdom of God are revealed to you; for the rest there are only parables, so that
they may see but not perceive, listen but not understand." - and Our Lord went on to clearly explain to His disciples what the parable means -- who is the sower, who is the seed, what circumstances are like the rock, the bird, the trampled path. Everything is made clear to the disciples. The crowds, however, are left with only metaphors.

Clearly, Jesus loved to tell stories and to use metaphorical language. But I found it interesting that he tells His disciples, for you, I make myself clear. The stories are for the crowds. You are different. "The mysteries of the Kingdom of God are revealed to you." That is what He says, exactly.

In John 6, Our Lord is speaking to His disciples - not the crowds. We know from Luke 8, when He speaks to the disciples, He says what He means and means what He says. The disciples question Him, wanting Him to say, oh I'm back to telling stories. It's just a parable. A metaphor. But when challenged, Jesus holds firm. No, my food is real food. My blood is real drink. Unless you eat of my Flesh and drink of my Blood, there can be no life in you. On that day, many of His disciples left Him. In fact, only 12 remained.

From John 6--
I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the desert, but they died; this is the bread that comes down from heaven so that one may eat it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world." The Jews quarreled among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us (his) flesh to eat?" Jesus said to them, "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day.
For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.
This is the bread that came down from heaven. Unlike your ancestors who ate and still died, whoever eats this bread will live forever."
These things he said while teaching in the synagogue in Capernaum.
Then many of his disciples who were listening said, "This saying is hard; who can accept it?"

As a result of this, many (of) his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him. Jesus then said to the Twelve, "Do you also want to leave?"
Simon Peter answered him, "Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.
We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God."

John 6 remains the Source and Summit of the faith. It also continues to be a dividing line. Each convert must wrestle with this teaching. Only the one who can say, as Peter did - I'm not sure I quite know how it happens, but I take your word for it . . . you have the words of eternal life . . . and though this is a hard teaching, I have come to believe and I am even convinced that you are the Holy One of God. If You say that I must eat Your Flesh and drink Your Blood or I will not have eternal life, then I say, "Amen." I bow. And I receive Our Eucharistic Lord Jesus Christ.

Skeptics will say that the disciples often misunderstood Jesus, that after He arose and ascended, they understood and even documented in Sacred Scripture what Jesus really meant by certain words and phrases. So much became clear. So that's what He meant by . . .

Skeptics will say that this teaching falls into that category. But here's the thing. Here's the thing I realized after hunting and hunting for the passage that says the disciples realized that He didn't really mean they had to eat His Flesh and He didn't really mean they had to drink His Blood -- On the contrary, they never do that with this Teaching! They never have an aha-moment. They never smile and say, oh, gotcha, you didn't really mean we had to eat and drink. Oh, No! They continue to believe in and teach that the Eucharist really is Jesus. It really is His Body and His Blood.

And the writings by the men who came after them also held to the teaching on the Real Presence.

And they remain firm in this teaching to this day.

For this reason, St. Paul writes in his First Letter to the Corinthians:

1 Corinthians 11:27-29 Therefore whoever eats this bread or drinks this cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord. 28 But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of the bread and drink of the cup. 29 For he who eats and drinks in an unworthy manner eats and drinks judgment to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body.

How God Changed My Mind (about Communion)

When the Eucharist falls

I remember the night my father accidentally drove the car up the back of my brother's heel - how my brother cried out and my mother screamed to go backwards - just go backwards! "You're on his foot!"


I remember how terrible my dad felt.


That's how I feel tonight. And I'm not really sure how to process what happened. I could call my mom, but she wouldn't understand. I could tell my brother or my sister. But they wouldn't get it either.


My husband John would understand. But he's not here right now. Later tonight. I will share with him later. And he will have calm words. He will tap into that marital grace that exists between husbands and wives. And he will rescue me from this place I'm in.


* * *


A couple of months ago, one of the deacons at my parish asked me to be an extraordinary Eucharistic minister. I told him I didn't feel ready. He reminded me that nobody is really ready and nobody is really worthy of this work. And so, I agreed.


The first time I served as an extraordinary Eucharistic minister, I thought I would die right there. It was too much to take in. Not only will Our Lord rest in the palm of my own hand, but I will have the great honor - the unbelievable task - of giving Him to another human being.


And I could barely keep back the tears as I held up the Body of Christ and watched them come, bowing as they came, with outreached hands and open mouths.


Last week, I saw my name on the list for today's Saturday vigil Mass. I was scheduled once again.


Tonight, as we prayed the Mass, I didn't feel ready. I thought of Corrie ten Boom, a Holocaust survivor, who hid Jews in a secret room. In her book The Hiding Place, she tells of a conversation she had with her father when she was a child - and how that story came back to her as she met death face-to-face in a concentration camp.


When he was tucking her into bed that night, Corrie asked: "Papa, what is it like to die?"Papa Ten Boom did not look away from her, but held his gaze into her eyes. "When we go to Amsterdam, when do I give you your ticket?"Corrie considered this well before answering. "Just before we get on the train."Still holding his steady gaze, he said to her: "When the time comes, your Heavenly Father will give you all the strength you need."


At Mass tonight, this story came back to me. And I realized that Jesus would come to me moments before I had to stand and offer Him to others. It gave me peace. I can do this because He will be in me, strengthening me, calming me. He will do the giving.


And then, a girl of about twelve came forward. She smiled and turned toward me. She bowed.


It was a precious moment. We were both filled with joy. I raised the Eucharist and said, The Body of Christ. She said, Amen. And offered her hands. So small. And my own, so nervous.


And I placed Our Lord in her hand.


I don't know what happened. We both realized in the same moment. The Eucharist had fallen. It wasn't her fault. But in that moment, it didn't really matter. We were both devastated.


We leaned down to carefully lift the Eucharist from where it had fallen. She picked Him up and gently laid Him in my hand. Her face was red. I grieved for her. I grieved with her.


I raised the Eucharist to her again, and she received Our Lord.


(The Deacon carefully received the fallen Eucharist when I whispered what had happened a few minutes later. There was no condemnation. Just a nod. Another open hand. And that was all.)


When the Mass ended, I hurried to the narthex. There she was, with her mother, telling Father what had happened. The tears were now a great flood. And I went to her. I felt the same ache. Honey, it is my fault. Not yours. This was only my second time. I was nervous. See? It was my fault. Don't worry anymore.


And I hugged her. Father said, See, it's okay. And the mother and daughter nodded and passed through the doors.


But I looked at our parish priest when they left. I was still so upset. I do think it was my fault, Father. I began. . .


He smiled and with so much grace, he reminded me that Our Lord fell three times. He was not unaccustomed to falling.


And I suppose Father is right. Still, I struggle with the sadness. To have happened so soon after beginning this special ministry. Well, I just don't know if I can do it anymore.


It is like hearing that you have run the car onto your son's foot. Or you have dropped the newborn. No, it's something quite more than that. The Creator of all things has allowed Himself to pass through the fingers of a little girl and an emotional woman and to rest at their feet. Waiting. Waiting.


Such humility, I cannot understand. I am barely able to grasp that He would become food for me to eat. This is too much. . .


At dinner tonight, I thought about Corrie ten Boom's father, and how he told her that her heavenly Father would provide her with the "ticket" when it was time to die.


Had the Eucharist given me what was needed? It didn't seem so. I had failed. Between the two of us, the little girl and me, we had failed.


But then again, He still came to us, didn't He? And there was grace.


The little girl's tears proved her love for the Lord. It proved that she knows exactly Who she is receiving.

The priest's words proved that he is a shepherd and can love his little (and not so little) sheep back into the fold with words of kindness and peace.

I'm not sure what I am supposed to learn. Maybe that I am not really called to this kind of ministry.

Or maybe it is so I can wrestle with what love this is, that He would take on the appearance of bread, to come to me, to come to this little girl, to risk falling all over again.

(Writer's note: I believe the role of Extraordinary Eucharistic Minister is a unique calling for some lay people. After prayer and careful discernment, however, I realize that I am not called to serve in this manner. I feel such deep emotion in the moment of Holy Communion that I am barely able to receive with steady hands. And so, I rejoice that there are laypeople who are given the grace to do this wonderful work - with a strength and composure that I do not have. And that is okay. My joy is found in receiving and quietly returning to my place, where I can kneel in thanksgiving. My place is to be small, hidden, and captivated by joy.)

* * *

from a parish tutorial on extraordinary Eucharistic ministry:

"If you drop the Consecrated Host, do not serve it to the person in front of whom you dropped it. Your calm demeanor at this moment can calm or assure an anxious and embarrassed person. Pick up the Host and consume it yourself, or put it to the side of the ciboria until you can place it in the dish next to the Tabernacle for disposal. Please do not place it directly into the Sacrarium in the sacristy."

When the Eucharist falls

Unity in the Eucharist and the Mass

There is a moment during every Mass when heaven touches down to earth. The Church Triumphant and all the holy angels pierce the veil that separates time from eternity. In that moment, we kneel as one before the Lamb. In that moment, we have one heartbeat.

And in that moment, Jesus Christ is lifted high. A piece of bread and chalice of wine no longer exist.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells His disciples that they must eat his body and drink his blood. He repeats it again and again throughout chapter six. Jesus warns them, if you do not eat my flesh or drink my blood, there is no life in you (6:53).

We can imagine the complaints our Lord’s words generated because they are the same complaints many Christians voice today (6:52). That can’t be what you mean, Lord. You’re speaking metaphorically, right?

No, Jesus tells them, my flesh is real food. My blood is real drink (6:55). They are stunned and many of His followers leave Him that day. But twelve remain (6:67-68). A year later, Jesus institutes the Sacrament of Holy Communion at the Last Supper, again using the words this is my body, this is my blood. They eat and they drink (Matthew 26:26-18; Mark 14:22-24; Luke 22:19-20).

And they have life. From that life, a Church grows and covers the earth.

Read the early writings of Church Fathers. They all believed in the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. For centuries, nobody wanted to leave the Catholic Church because that was where Jesus Christ could be found – literally. For you see, the Eucharist has been the center of Christian unity from the very beginning because the Eucharist is Jesus Christ.

I remember a conversation I had with a priest when I was considering the Catholic Church. Father Larry Brunette told me that everything comes down to what I believe about Holy Communion. If I could accept Jesus Christ at His Word, I would continue this faith journey. If I could not believe in the Real Presence, the journey would come to an end right there. Basically, the Protestants who are able to connect the Jesus they already adore with the Jesus present in Holy Communion are never content until they come home to the Catholic Church. (Then the priest suggested a little book called The Lamb’s Supper by a former Presbyterian minister by the name of Dr. Scott Hahn, which I highly recommend - see also YouTube clip below).

I considered the priest’s words. Could I really believe that Jesus Christ was present in the Eucharist? Could I take the Lord’s words literally? I wasn’t sure. That was a monumental leap of faith. I realized that Jesus never said, this is like my body or this is like my blood. There was no indication of metaphorical language – unlike the passages in which the Lord says the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed (Matthew 13:31), or like a pearl (13:44-46) or like a king who gave a wedding feast (Matthew 22:2). If it really is Jesus’ body and blood, what else could He have said to make them (or me) believe? Probably nothing. Some people would argue with St. Peter – or Christ Himself.

I began to pray as I sat through Mass. Lord, if that is really you up there, help me to believe. Week after week I would watch intently as the faithful received the Lord, and miraculously, I began to believe. In time, scriptures I had committed to memory came back to me and underscored this Teaching. Even the Old Testament seemed to be a finger pointing in this direction. The Passover Lamb (Exodus 12:6-9, 13). Manna from heaven (Exodus 16:4). Melchizedek, the priest-king, and the gifts of wine and bread (Genesis 14:18 and Psalm 110:4).

I weep tears of joy almost every time I receive Our Lord in the Eucharist. There’s something indescribably wonderful about walking forward to receive my Lord and knowing that Jesus Christ is willing to humble Himself and come inside of me. And then I kneel. A gentle quiet comes, and at first, I think I’m in charge of the quieting in my spirit.

But then there’s peace, and it is the kind of peace that can’t be generated by sheer will and determination. It is divine peace. The Lord of the Ages has found a home inside of me! And there is absolutely no denying that He is there. It is sweet – sweeter than anything on earth. And I realize that I’m crying again, and it doesn’t seem to matter if anyone notices.

I’ve talked to some who have been Catholic for many years, and I’ve asked them if it’s always like that. The answer is no. Sometimes it’s a matter of walking in faith even when there are no spiritual warm fuzzies. But even then, there are hidden graces. For you see, this Most Blessed Sacrament is efficacious. It isn’t always grace-filled tears that come. Sometimes, it’s the grace to be faithful to the call, come hell or high water. Sometimes, it’s the grace to live a quiet, but holy life. Sometimes, it’s the grace not to live, but to die.

In that Most Blessed Moment, we hear Jesus Christ speak, and He says the words once again, Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20).

Unity in the Eucharist and the Mass