THE EUCHARIST CAN SAVE THE WORLD: PART II
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There is also a mystical component to the Eucharist and its salvific power. We must also consider this because taking part in the liturgy is not just a tool for reflection and self-improvement on human terms. It is a sacrament, as the Catechism offers, “an outward, visible sign of inward, invisible grace.” And when we say this we mean, quite simply, that it’s a place where God shows up for us.
A place where God shows up. It sounds rather down-to-earth when you put it that way. But earth is indeed where God came down to find us, and just because something is divinely, eternally mysterious does not mean that it is not also quite real and accessible. For God is love, and I believe that love, at its core, simply means showing up in the flesh.
Consider this: When you think of that one person you love and trust the most, the one you’d call in the middle of the night when everything has fallen apart, or when you can’t get up, or when you are scared or sick, what is that person going to do? They’re going to show up.
They’re not just going to say “oh, so sorry to hear that; good luck.” No. They’re actually going to come to you. It’s why we visit people in the hospital. It’s why we check on those who are alone. It’s why we come together for major life events. Because we know instinctively that love—even when it’s complicated (and when is it not?)—is about showing up for each other.
And God, in the Eucharist, is revealed as the Originator of this impulse, the One who shows up so that we might do the same in God’s name. Week after week, God comes knocking at our door to check on us. God brings us something to eat, saying, “I’m here. Don’t be afraid now. I’m here.” It is inconceivable, really, that the Creator of the cosmos would do such a thing, but it also makes sense in a way deeper than conceptual understanding. For the substance of love is presence.
And, in the end, this presence, this showing up is the only thing that will save—rescue, heal, renew—the world’s brokenness. Not “thoughts and prayers” from afar but love in action, love in person, here and now. The Eucharist is an invitation into our own full-realized humanity, but also the sign of God’s full-realized solidarity with us through the humanity of the Word. It is God saying, “I will not leave you. I will stand by you, no matter what. I am with you. I am within you.” God saves us by showing up, by reminding us that we are not alone in the world. Yes, it is mystical and profound, in the way that only simple, down-to-earth things really are.
Of course, these are just a couple of ways to speak of what is given and what is asked of us at the Eucharistic table. You might have your own ways of speaking about this, and that is very good. There is no definitive summary of salvation, or sacrament, or grace. But I pray that in pondering how the Eucharist saves the world—how it forms us to be participants in salvation, how it demonstrates God’s saving closeness—you might discover within yourself a renewed longing for what it offers.
And I pray that in doing so, the Eucharist might become a place of honesty for you, too. A place where you come with your questions, where you can listen to God’s questions, and where together, alongside one another, you listen for answers. I pray that it will be a place where you learn to put your body on the line for the sake of love, just as Jesus has done for us.
For as long as we live, may we keep keep listening, keep wrestling, keep seeking, keep reaching out our hands for a morsel of God’s love and offering back a morsel of our own. May our hunger sustain us, may our questions give us wisdom. And may the feast, in the end, save us all, in the fullest sense of the word.
