'My father wants to receive the Bread of Life'

Pope Benedict giving Holy Communion to the sick in Lourdes

A memorable moment for me about 16 years ago when I was parish priest in Lianga, Surigao del Sur, Diocese of Tandag, on the east coast of Mindanao, was when one of our volunteer catechists came and told me that her father wanted to receive ‘the Bread of Life’. He had stopped eating normal food, nearly always interpreted here as a sign that death is near.


I learned that the dying man had been married three times, having been widowed twice. Children from his three marriages were in the house, along with some of his grandchildren. The man himself was fully alert and participated joyfully in the celebration of the sacraments, surrounded by so many of his family except during his confession.

We had a period of silence after the sick man’s Holy Communion. I then asked the family members closest to him to put their hands on them and to pray over him, something that is often done here. However, the man who had just received the Bread of Life had other ideas. One of his grandchildren was a child only a few months old. He took the child in his arms and clasped it to his breast. Then he embraced each other family member in turn, knowing that it was a farewell.

There was a tangible sense of joy in the house and I was invited to take a snack, the only time this has happened to me on a sick call. But it was fitting.

Next morning the catechist came to tell me that her father had died during the night.

Today’s gospel, John 6:44-51, reminded me of that incident. ‘This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that a man may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live for ever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh’ (vv50-51, RSV). Yesterday’s gospel, also from John 6, had this beautiful expression of God’s love: ‘For this is the will of my Father, that every one who sees the Son and believes in him should have eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day’ (v40).

Christ in a second-hand car

A poem can often help us see something ‘ordinary’ in a new way or it may help us see something quite extraordinary from the vantage point of ordinariness – bringing us to see a new aspect of its extraordinariness.

Such is a poem in Irish (Gaelic) by Seán Ó Leocháin published in 1986 in Aithrí Thoirní and which I came across in an article in Comhar in May 1992. It is appropriate for the Solemnity of Corpus Christi, celebrated tomorrow here in the Philippines and in Ireland.

I’ve never had the gift of writing poetry but will attempt a translation of the poem.

Nuair a tháinig an sagart
When the priest came
chuig m’athair inniu,
to my father today
mar a thagann de ghnáth
as he usually comes
i dtús na míosa,at the beginning of the month
le lón na beatha
with the food of life
a thabhairt d’fhearto give to a man
nach bhfágann an chlúid
who’s been bed-ridden
in aon chor le tamall,
for some time now,
ní hé an gnás ab ait liom féin.it wasn’t the rite that was strange to me.

Ní hé ba mhó

What really
ba bhun le m’iontas
caused my wonder wasn't
fear dá chlú,a man of such repute,
dá chleacht, dá éirimsuch experience, such intelligence
ar cuairt na sean
visiting the sick
i dtús na míosaat the beginning of the month
le comhairle a leasawith good advice
a chur ar dhreamto give to those
nach bhfágfadh clúid na haithrí choíche,who would never leave the cover of repentance again,

ach Críost a theachtbut Christ coming
i gcarr athláimhe
in a second-hand car
a cheannaigh an sagart
the priest bought
ó fhear i Ros Comáin.From a man in Roscommon.

12-year-old Anna to Pope: 'Can we live without arguing in the name of Jesus?'

Last Saturday, the eve of Pentecost, Pope Benedict met with 7,000 children, members of the Pontifical Society of the Holy Childhood (it uses variations on this name in different countries), in Rome.
As on one previous occasion, in 2005 when he met with children who had just made their First Holy Communion, the pope answered without notes some questions from the children.

Sandro Magister gives a full report of the questions and answers.


Heres' the first question and answer. I've highlighted some parts of the answer and added [comments].

Q: My name is Anna, I'm twelve. Pope Benedict, my friend Giovanni has an Italian daddy and his mother is from Ecuador, and he is very happy. Do you think that someday the different cultures can live together without arguing in the name of Jesus?

A: I understand that you all want to know how we, as children, were able to help one another. I must say that I lived my elementary school years in a small town of 400 inhabitants, very far from the big cities. So we were a bit naive [He's kind of saying 'taga-bukid/bondoc ako,' as Filipinos might put it - 'I was a "country hick!"'], and in this town there were, on the one hand, very rich farmers and also others who were much less rich but well off, and on the other poor laborers, craftsmen.

Shortly before I started elementary school, our family arrived in this town from another town, so we were a little bit like strangers to them, even our dialect was different ['dialect' as in a variation of the German language. Here in the Philippines people often describe their native regional language as a 'dialect', which is inaccurate]. So in this school, there were very diverse social situations. Nonetheless, there was a beautiful communion among us. They taught me their dialect, which I didn't know yet. [The young Joseph Ratzinger experienced the reality of migration, albeit only to another part of his region in Germany, but having to make new friends and so on.]

We worked together well, and I must say that sometimes we argued too, but afterwards we made up and forgot about what had happened.This seems important to me. Sometimes arguing seems inevitable in human life; but it is still important to be able to reconcile, forgive, start over again and not leave bitterness in our souls. [How true - and how consoling is this. Life would be very bland if we never argued and would we really know what it means to be followers of Jesus if we never experienced forgiving and being forgiven?]

I recall with gratitude how we all worked together: each helped the other, and we made our journey together. We were all Catholic, and this was naturally a great help. [This is the situation in most parts of the Philippines, where most would identify themselves as Catholics. It used to be true in most parts of Ireland but I'm not so sure now.] Because of this we learned the Bible together, from the creation to the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, and also the beginnings of the Church.

We learned the catechism together, we learned to pray together, we prepared together for first confession, for first communion: that was a wonderful day. We learned that Jesus himself comes to us, and that He is not a faraway God: he enters into my life, into my soul. And if Jesus himself enters into each one of us, we are brothers, sisters, friends, and so that is how we should behave.

For us, this preparation for first confession as the purification of our consciences, of our lives, and then also for first communion as a concrete encounter with Jesus who comes to me, who comes to all of us, were factors that contributed to forming our community. They helped us to get along together, to learn together to reconcile when necessary.

We also put on little performances: it is important to work together, to be attentive to each other. Then when I was about eight or nine I became an altar boy. Back then there weren't any altar girls yet, but the girls read better than we did. So they read the readings of liturgy, and we were altar boys. [I think that in Germany before Vatican II, when Mass was always in Latin - still the official language of the liturgy of the Roman or Latin Rite to which most Catholic belong - that while the priest read the readigns in Latin quietly at the altar, lay persons would read them audibly in German. However, I'm not quite sure.] At that time there were still many Latin texts to learn, so everyone had work to do.

As I said, we weren't saints: we had our arguments, but still there was a beautiful communion where the distinctions between rich and poor, between intelligent and less intelligent didn't count. What counted was communion with Jesus in the journey of the common faith and in common responsibility, in games, in common work. We found the capacity to live together, to be friends, and although since 1937, for more than seventy years, I haven't been in that town, we have remained friends. So we learned to accept each other, to bear one another's burdens.

This seems important to me: in spite of our weakness we accept each other and together with Jesus Christ and the Church we find together the path of peace and learn to live well. [Pope Benedict may be giving an idealized recollection of his childhood years but his words are words of hope, lifting up the spirits of the young. They remind me of the words of St Luke in two passages of the Acts of the Apostles: And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And fear came upon every soul; and many wonders and signs were done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common; and they sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they partook of food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people (2:42-47) . . . Now the company of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had everything in common (4:32)].

Not 'bread' or 'wine'

Since the swine flu scare started I have read of steps the Church has taken in some places to prevent the possible spread of the illness. Some parishes, for example, have temporarily stopped giving Holy Communion under both kinds. Others have asked the people not to receive Holy Communion on the tongue but on the hand.

However, I have seen reports and comments, some by Catholics, saying that ‘the wine’ will not be given at Holy Communion. I have even heard priests use that term.

Bishop Fulton Sheen celebrating Mass, photo by Karsh of Ottawa

The Church has never given ‘wine’ at Holy Communion. At Holy Communion we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, under one form or both. Most of us normally receive Holy Communion under the form of bread. When the priest celebrates Mass he consecrates the bread and the wine that are brought up at the offertory. Through the power of the Holy Spirit they become the Body and Blood of Christ the Risen Lord. They are not symbols of Jesus the Lord but the Lord himself.

Mass at Abbaye de Sainte-Madeleine du Barroux

On the home page of Misyon , under Daily Prayer Online you can find a link to Tradition Day By Day, published by the Augustinian Press, Villanova, PA, USA. Today’s reading is by St Cyril of Jerusalem (316-386) and is absolutely clear:

The bread from heaven and the cup of salvation

Under the old covenant there was showbread, but it came to an end with the old dispensation to which it belonged. Under the new covenant there is bread from heaven and the cup of salvation. These sanctify both soul and body, the bread being adapted to the sanctification of the body, the word to the sanctification of the soul.

Do not, then, regard the eucharistic elements as ordinary bread and wine: they are in fact the body and blood of the Lord, as he himself has declared. Whatever your senses may tell you, be strong in faith.

You have been taught and you are firmly convinced that what looks and tastes like bread and wine is not bread and wine but the body and the blood of Christ. You know also how David referred to this long ago when he sang: Bread strengthens the heart and makes the face glow with the oil of gladness. Strengthen your heart, then, by receiving this bread as spiritual bread, and bring joy to the face of your soul.

May purity of conscience remove the veil from the face of your soul so that by contemplating the glory of the Lord, as in a mirror, you may be transformed from glory to glory in Christ Jesus our Lord. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.