Homily: Jesus is Here.

Fr. Tony Cecil Homily—Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Our Lord, Jesus Christ 22/23 June 2019 Epiphany Catholic Church, Louisville, Kentucky

There was a small country church, in a small town, with a small congregation—and every Sunday, in the very back pew, there sat an old man and a young boy. At first, people thought that the boy was his grandson, but he wasn’t—he was his son. Everyone in that church had their own spot to sit, and the back pew was theirs. The man was a good, gentle father—but when it came to being inside the church, he was rather strict. This was not a place to play—it was a place to pray. When the young boy asked what it meant to pray, the man showed him.

Every Sunday, they got to the small church 45 minutes to an hour early, and they prayed together. They sat close together in the pew so that they could pray out loud in a soft voice, so as to not disturb the others that were there. They took turns leading prayers that the dad had taught his son at home. Then, they’d spend time quietly praying—the dad taught his son that when we needed help, or that when we were thankful for something, we should tell God, and that’s what praying meant.

Then, music would begin to play—there were older kids in white robes, carrying a cross and candles—and a man, wearing some really weird clothes—sometimes they were green, but sometimes other colors, too. The dad lifted his son up and stood him on the pew so that he could see. Everyone sat down, and some people got up to read from a book—the dad told his son that they were reading from the Bible. Then, the man in the weird clothes would read from the Bible, and talk to them—sometimes for a long time.

After all that was done, the older kids started putting all these things on the big table at the front of the church—a book, some metal plates and cups, some cloths—and eventually, everyone knelt down. Well, everyone but the young boy—because he was too short to kneel and be able to see anything. So, the boy’s dad let him stand next to him while he knelt. The young boy stood there, next to his dad, with his dad’s arm around him, and wondered what was going on. A few minutes after everyone knelt down, the man dressed in those funny clothes held something up, and bells rang three times. The boy’s dad leaned over to him and whispered, “Son, the priest is holding up Jesus—he’s here now—and he loves you—and he will always be with you.”

The boy stood there, looking at what the priest was holding up—and he believed.

He believed that it was Jesus—and he believed that Jesus loved him—I mean, he must if he lets that little piece of bread become Him somehow—and He believed that Jesus would always be with Him.

But most of all—I believed because my dad told me it was true—and there was never any reason for me to doubt him.

Sunday after Sunday, my dad and I sat in the back pew of that little church—and Sunday after Sunday, when the priest would hold up the consecrated host, my dad would lean in to tell me, “Jesus is here—he loves you—he will always be with you.”

And that fact is the focus of our celebration this weekend—that Jesus is here—Jesus is here at Mass, the Church says, in the person of the priest, in the congregation gathered together, in the Word of God proclaimed from this ambo—but soon, in a few minutes, Jesus will be here—physically here—bread and wine that this community offers will become His Body, His Blood, His Soul, and His Divinity.

In the Eucharist, Jesus is truly here—and he is here because He loves us. This is something the saints recognized so clearly—Saint Bernard of Clairvaux tells us, “The Eucharist is the love which surpasses all loves in Heaven and on Earth,” Saint John Vianney says, “There is nothing so great as the Eucharist—if God had something more precious, He would have given it to us,” Saint Maria Goretti, who died as a teenager, said, “The Holy Eucharist is the perfect expression of the love of Jesus Christ for man.”

The Eucharist that we celebrate shows us so concretely the profound love that Jesus has for us—because not only did He die for us—not only did He rise from the tomb to defeat death forever—not only did He do those remarkable things—but He also made a promise—a promise that we would never be alone—a promise He fulfills in the Eucharist, because—He loves us.

Jesus allows bread and wine to become His Body and Blood—He allows us to receive Him—He allows Himself to become a part of us—He allows us to keep Him locked in tabernacles in Churches across the world, and there, He waits for us—He waits for us to come and to tell Him our needs—He waits for us to come and to thank Him for His graces and His mercy poured out—He waits for us—to simply come and to be in His presence. When Saint John Vianney asked a man who visited his church every single day, twice a day, what he does when he visits, the man said to him, “I say nothing to Him—I look at Him, and He looks at me.”

Brothers and sisters—today is a day to rejoice and be glad, because today, we as a Church celebrate the greatest gift that we have ever been given—the greatest sign of love that we’ve ever known—the greatest source of hope that the world has ever seen—the answer to everything.

Today, we have the chance to begin anew; today, we have the chance to look Love in the face and to know that we are loved—we have the chance to lay our burdens at the altar and to know that we are not alone—we have the chance to give ourselves to this great mystery that we celebrate—that in a few moments when I hold the Lord in the air, we allow our worries to drift away, our minds to rest, and the peace that can only come from Him to reign in the chambers of our hearts.

Today, brothers and sisters, is a day to be transformed—Saint Leo the Great tells us, “Our sharing in the Body and Blood of Christ has no other purpose than to transform us into that which we receive.” But to be transformed, we must believe—we must give the Lord all that we have, just as the disciples did in today’s Gospel—we must give the Lord our loaves and fishes when we are daunted by the task of feeding thousands—and place all our hope, all our trust in Him—believing that He will take what we give Him, and in return, give us more than we could ever imagine.

This past week, I was back at Saint Meinrad, with nearly 200 young people, youth ministers, catechists, chaperones, priests, and religious, for a youth conference that I was invited to come and teach at. Over the course of the week, a lot of questions were asked:

• When it was discovered that I was a “baby priest,” youth after youth, adult after adult asked me, “Why?” Why would I want to be a priest? And for so many, why would I want to become a priest now when the Church looks like a complete mess?

• I myself asked a few youth—why are you here? What makes you interested in your faith? What makes you stay?

• In speaking with other priests and lay ministers, the question came up over and over again, “How do we best serve? What will bring people back? What will help them stay? What will help them discover the beauty of our faith that we know so well?”

And the more I thought about it, and continue to think about it, the more I realize that, at the end of the day, all of these questions, in all of these different contexts, really have the same answer.

The answer is found in the back pew of a small country church, where a little boy stands next to his dad, looking at what the priest was holding up—looking and believing, with all that he has, that what his dad just whispered in his ear is true: “Jesus is here—and He loves you—and He will always be with you.”

To view the Scripture Readings for this weekend, please click here.

#homily #eucharist