Homily for the Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time – Year B, August 19, 2012

This was my first homily as a deacon, and it was my first chance to speak to the parish since my ordination on August 10.

I’d like to begin with a word of thanks. Brenda and I are so grateful for last week’s reception and for your continued prayers and support, not only over the last four years, but during the last twenty-one years that we have been members of St. Peter. From the time I started teaching at All Saints, to Brenda’s time as Director of Religious Education, to the times we sit here beside you in the pew, we have always felt welcomed and supported. It’s one of the gifts of this community, and we feel so blessed to remain here and continue to serve the parish which has become our home. So thank you again.

As some of you know, Brenda and I have four children: Ryan, who’s 20 years old; Joseph, who’s 18; Teresa, who’s 13; and Sarah, who’s 7. Like many of you, we’ve had a busy summer trying squeeze in as much vacation and family time as possible. We haven’t gotten as much time together as we wanted, but summer has still had its moments.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could discover what makes those summer moments so full of life, and then apply that to the rest of the year?

Why don’t we walk back through summer, and maybe we can pick up some clues.

Let’s go back to June, and people are at the lake and sitting around campfires telling stories and roasting marshmallows until they’re that perfect shade of golden brown–the marshmallows, I mean.

What makes that night on the lake so special? Is it the company? The stories? The s’mores?

Now it’s the Fourth of July, and the grill is crackling with barbecue ribs, or burgers and hotdogs, and the family gathers to celebrate Independence Day. And though it’s not really the food that makes this moment so enjoyable, it sure feels good to have a drink on the porch with friends, watching the fireworks.

Now we’re at a family reunion, and grandma’s brought her famous potato salad, the recipe of which is a closely guarded secret, and even those who know it can’t quite make it like she can.

It’s great to see everybody again and hear the old stories, and dinner comes just at the right time.

There were also weddings in some of your families this summer, with the cutting of the cake, dancing, and champagne toasts.

Summer is full of life-giving moments like these, moments with friends and family, feasting together, laughing together, just being present to each other.

What is it that makes them so special? The people, certainly. The stories, perhaps.

But what about the food?

As these last days of summer dwindle away, and we look back on the times we’ve had, can we imagine them without food or drink?

No s’mores around the campfire? No beer and burgers? No potato salad or champagne?

Food is as vital to those experiences as everything else.

We might not want to admit it. But our children betray us. What’s the first thing they look for when they get to Grandma’s house? Treats! “We love you Grandma–and you make great chocolate chip cookies!”

These summer moments are life giving because of the company of friends and family, yes, but there’s more. Take away the food, and something is missing.

What is it that is so satisfying about sitting around with friends drinking wine while the stars come out, or getting together for coffee and conversation?

It’s the filling of two of our deepest needs: physical and spiritual, our hunger for food and our hunger for companionship. We are people of flesh and blood, and people of spirit and intellect. We hug and handshake, pump fists, and pat each other on the back. We kiss and tousle hair, hold hands and put our heads on each other’s shoulders.

Our relationships grow best when we connect both physically and spiritually.

The same is true of our relationship with God.

In today’s gospel, Jesus gives himself as true food and true drink, telling the crowds that we must eat his flesh and drink his blood. The word used for “eat” in today’s gospel is more accurately translated as “gnaw” or “munch.” “Whoever gnaws on my flesh has eternal life.” Jesus means for us to take him literally.

Why? Why does he shock the crowd by telling them they must gnaw on his flesh? Why does he go against every Jewish proscription against blood, telling them they must not only come into contact with blood, but that they must drink it?

Because Jesus wants a relationship with us. The great God of the universe, the Wisdom of the ages, loves us and wants to connect with us completely, intimately–that means physically as well as spiritually.

God is not content with a partial relationship. He wants us to have it all, to be one wholly and completely with him. So instead of just a handshake or a hug, God offers us himself as food.

That is the Eucharist.

As Fr. Ron Rolheiser says, “The Eucharist isn’t abstract, a theological instruction, a creed, a moral precept, a philosophy, or even just an intimate word. It’s bodily, an embrace, a kiss, something shockingly physical…”

“Something shockingly physical.”

That is the Good News today: God offers himself to us both spiritually and physically, so that we can, indeed, have fullness of life, so that we can experience what writer Andre Dubus once called “the taste of forgiveness and love.”

This altar is like our front porch, our campfire, the place of our family reunion and our wedding reception. This is where we come together to build relationships–relationships with each other and relationships with God. And, just like those summer get-togethers, it’s not complete without the food and drink.

And when we eat his flesh and drink his blood, Jesus tells us that we remain in him and he remains in us. In other words, we become what we consume. We become flesh and blood for the life of the world. As we go forth from here, we are the touch of God in the world, we become “something shockingly physical.” We become “the taste of forgiveness and love.”

Every pregnant mother, nourishing the new life growing within her, is literally flesh and blood for the world. Every father who bangs up his knuckles on the engine of his daughter’s broken-down car is a physical incarnation of love. Every child who gets off the couch and takes out the trash, every nurse who tenderly wraps a wound, every sign of peace exchanged here today–all are flesh and blood for the life of the world.

Because of the life of Christ within us, we are the flesh and blood of this community. Flesh and blood bring life to love. Love needs flesh and blood to make itself manifest. Love is nothing without a body to express it. Just as the Father gives life to the Son, and sends the Son to give life to us, we receive Christ’s life in the Eucharist and are sent to bring that life to the world.

We gather around this table with our friends and family, we share our stories, we eat, and then we go and offer ourselves as food for the world.

It’s like summer all year round.

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