Today – in a rather pointed rebellion against Protestant boredom – we celebrate the fact that Jesus Christ meant what he said and said what he meant, when he told that confused and bewildered crowd to eat His flesh and drink his blood. It’s really what separates the person of Christ from the “good moral teacher” the crowds of the world wish to consecrate Him into. No matter how peaceful and tolerant the lecture, and no matter the extent to which you are convinced that he “just wants everyone to get along”, if your good, moral teacher ends his lessons by offering his own flesh to eat, chances are you’ve missed something. (“Alright class, your homework will be due on the 7th, make sure to write it in pen, and eat my flesh and drink my blood, you’ll live forever, and I’ll see you next week.”(Hehe))
You’ll notice that my Lenten promise of posting everyday was yesterday destroyed by a twelve hour workday and a midnight holy hour, but since it was destroyed – in part – by the adoration of the Lord of the Universe, if you get mad at me, thou shalt be smited on. He told me something painful to hear, this Eucharistic God, as I struggled believe in His real presence:
Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.
But your iniquities have separated
you from your God;
your sins have hidden his face from you,
so that he will not hear.
For your hands are stained with blood,
your fingers with guilt.
Your lips have spoken falsely,
and your tongue mutters wicked things.
The LORD looked and was displeased
that there was no justice.
He saw that there was no one,
he was appalled that there was no one to intervene;
so his own arm achieved salvation for him,
and his own righteousness sustained him.
Like a pent-up flood, yes, yes, yes says my heart. What are the areas in our lives that we dam God’s grace? (Don’t act like there aren’t any, I’ll smite you.)
It’s happy, happy thought, to realize that God is held back be these, that He is forced against walls that – if we were to crack them but a little – would crumble under the might of his love and mercy. Think of that, the next time you see God in the Eucharist. There, contained in a piece of bread, is a pent-up flood. Release it, for our God is humble beyond reckoning, and waits for our decision.