Feast of the Holy Eucarist - Thu 07 Jun 2007

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Brother Adam D. McCoy, OHC
BCP – Corpus Christi - Thursday 07 June 2007
during Chapter 2007 of the Order of the Holy Cross


When David (Br. David Bryan Hoopes, Superior of OHC) asked me to say a word on the Feast of Corpus Christi this morning, the first image that came to my mind was that of sacrifice. Not the sacrifice in the Jerusalem Temple. Even with texts familiar to us chanted in the background, the carryings on would have seemed strange -- the blood flowing off the corners of the altars, priests whose practical liturgical training encompassed animal dismemberment. No, the image that came to me was of pagan sacrifice, the type that most of our ancestors practiced in one form or another, and which at some residual level remains in our cultural template.

The communion sacrifice in many cultures was the way ordinary, non-high status people got to eat meat. In Roman society, when a Really Big Sacrifice was called for, at a time of great need, or a celebration of good fortune, a well-favored person would buy a bull, which would cost about as much as a small car would for us. The preparations would be made, the invitations would be sent out, and a day or so before, the bull would be gorgeously and gaudily decorated and servants would lead it through the town crying out an announcement so that everyone would see what a splendid and expensive beast was being given to the gods, and, of course, by whom, and so that all would know, even if they were not invited (perhaps especially if they were not invited) that a communion sacrifice of immense cost was shortly to be held.

The day would come, the donor and his family and friends would dress in their finest and would form a parade from their house to the temple. The priests would do the proper thing and kill the animal in the proper way. No doubt a verdict of "Most acceptable to the gods" would be rendered. The beast would be cut up, the blood and entrails and stench of the act would fill the altar space. The temple would receive its tithe, which would probably be sold to the local butcher shops, providing income to the temple and meat for the market. Then the temple kitchen would swing into gear, the rest of the meat would be cooked, people would open their baskets with bread and wine and other food, and the invited guests would settle into a communion banquet, which would probably look like an especially elegant parish potluck supper. Those not invited would look on, hungry or excluded, and go home and plot and plan their own sacrifice, if they could afford one.

And if they couldn't, well, too bad for them. Filled bellies and happy times for those inside the circle. Exclusion, envy, sadness for those not invited.

As Scripture says in a not dissimilar context, "Happy are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb." Did you get your invitation to the wedding supper of the Lamb?

Yesterday we ended the afternoon, at least in our small discussion group, talking about Carl's (Br. Carl Sword, OHC) vivid image of free-floating fear, and how fear has paralyzed us in various ways. I would not be surprised to hear that other groups pursued that image as well. And we just spent the morning listening, listening, to each other, to a lot of fear. Often we feel unable to speak or act in loving honesty because of fear. Here I will speak only of my own fears, but I invite you to ponder yours. My guess is that I am not entirely unique. My guess is that Carl is right, and that we all participate in the ways of fear.

I am afraid of exclusion, of rejection, of being cast out. These fears are deep in me. Prayer, therapy, spiritual direction, and experience have helped uncover the roots of these fears. I have learned to name some of them and to some extent to reassign meanings to them. More often now than in the past I recognize these fears as I see them approaching, and from time to time I am able to welcome them, give them their proper place, not in the front parlor, but more like the back bedroom, of the household of my mind, and then get on with whatever I need to do. But sometimes there they are, out in the front room, talking to the guests again.

In order to cope with these moments, I have learned some strategies. Shutting down emotionally. Clamming up and not saying what needs to be said. Looking for approval. Or the opposite -- rolling over the situation like a piece of large construction equipment flattening a road before it is paved over. Perhaps these responses are not unknown to you as well.

"Perfect love casteth out fear", as the first Letter of John reminds us. Which is helpful and hopeful, until I consider that my love is not, and likely will not ever be, perfect. Perhaps it is not my love, but someone else's, that casts out the fear.

Which brings us back to the Holy Eucharist, to Corpus Christi, the Body of Christ, to sacrifice. The Christian religion is built on paradoxes. Not every religion is, but ours is. A savior who is both Human and Divine. A God who is both One and Three. A communion sacrifice in which the priest is the victim, offering himself as food and the drink. Bread which is flesh, wine which is blood. A meal for his closest companions to which the whole world is invited, to which exclusion comes only if we exclude ourselves. How more perfect could love be, to turn your own body into food, to be yourself the sacrificer and the sacrificed, the cook and the food? To wrap a towel around your waist and wash the feet of the unworthy and unlikely guests you -- the high status donor -- have yourself invited into discipleship, with the expectation that this new way of entertaining will become the fashion for your followers?

George Herbert – that wonderful seventeenth century priest and poet – George Herbert’s wonderful poem, Love (III), envisions just such a situation. He, sad, feeling excluded, and rejected, is invited into this meal. He does not know how to respond to Love’s generosity, just as we - I - often do not know how to respond when Love breaks through our - my - well-accustomed fears and defenses. But Love will not accept his refusal, and draws him in, and makes him - us - his honored guest.

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack’d any thing.

A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

We are compelled by Love's invitation. Love brings us to His banquet table and serves us His own life. Inadequate as we are, we are Love’s honored guests. Put away fear. Sit and eat.