Dear Brothers and Sisters,
"Qui, pridie quam pro nostra omniumque salute pateretur, hoc est
hodie, accepit panem": these words we shall pray today in the
Canon of the Mass. "Hoc est hodie" -- the Liturgy of Holy
Thursday places the word "today" into the text of the prayer,
thereby emphasizing the particular dignity of this day. It was
"today" that He did this: he gave himself to us for ever in the
Sacrament of his Body and Blood. This "today" is first and
foremost the memorial of that first Paschal event. Yet it is
something more. With the Canon, we enter into this "today". Our
today comes into contact with his today. He does this now. With
the word "today", the Church’s Liturgy wants us to give great
inner attention to the mystery of this day, to the words in
which it is expressed. We therefore seek to listen in a new way
to the institution narrative, in the form in which the Church
has formulated it, on the basis of Scripture and in
contemplation of the Lord himself.
The first thing to strike us is that the institution narrative
is not an independent phrase, but it starts with a relative
pronoun: qui pridie. This "qui" connects the entire narrative to
the preceding section of the prayer, "let it become for us the
body and blood of Jesus Christ, your only Son, our Lord." In
this way, the institution narrative is linked to the preceding
prayer, to the entire Canon, and it too becomes a prayer. By no
means is it merely an interpolated narrative, nor is it a case
of an authoritative self-standing text that actually interrupts
the prayer. It is a prayer. And only in the course of the prayer
is the priestly act of consecration accomplished, which becomes
transformation, transubstantiation of our gifts of bread and
wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. As she prays at this
central moment, the Church is fully in tune with the event that
took place in the Upper Room, when Jesus’ action is described in
the words: "gratias agens benedixit -- he gave you thanks and
praise". In this expression, the Roman liturgy has made two
words out of the one Hebrew word berakha, which is rendered in
Greek with the two terms eucharistía and eulogía. The Lord gives
thanks. When we thank, we acknowledge that a certain thing is a
gift that has come from another. The Lord gives thanks, and in
so doing gives back to God the bread, "fruit of the earth and
work of human hands", so as to receive it anew from him.
Thanksgiving becomes blessing. The offering that we have placed
in God’s hands returns from him blessed and transformed. The
Roman liturgy rightly interprets our praying at this sacred
moment by means of the words: "through him, we ask you to accept
and bless these gifts we offer you in sacrifice". All this lies
hidden within the word "eucharistia".
There is another aspect of the institution narrative cited in
the Roman Canon on which we should reflect this evening. The
praying Church gazes upon the hands and eyes of the Lord. It is
as if she wants to observe him, to perceive the form of his
praying and acting in that remarkable hour, she wants to
encounter the figure of Jesus even, as it were, through the
senses. "He took bread in his sacred hands …" Let us look at
those hands with which he healed men and women; the hands with
which he blessed babies; the hands that he laid upon men; the
hands that were nailed to the Cross and that forever bear the
stigmata as signs of his readiness to die for love. Now we are
commissioned to do what he did: to take bread in our hands so
that through the Eucharistic Prayer it will be transformed. At
our priestly ordination, our hands were anointed, so that they
could become hands of blessing. Let us pray to the Lord that our
hands will serve more and more to bring salvation, to bring
blessing, to make his goodness present!
From the introduction to the Priestly Prayer of Jesus (cf. Jn
17:1), the Canon takes these words: "Looking up to heaven, to
you his almighty Father …" The Lord teaches us to raise our
eyes, and especially our hearts. He teaches us to fix our gaze
upwards, detaching it from the things of this world, to direct
ourselves in prayer towards God and thus to raise ourselves. In
a hymn from the Liturgy of the Hours, we ask the Lord to guard
our eyes, so that they do not take in or cause to enter within
us "vanitates" -- vanities, nothings, that which is merely
appearance. Let us pray that no evil will enter through our
eyes, falsifying and tainting our very being. But we want to
pray above all for eyes that see whatever is true, radiant and
good; so that they become capable of seeing God’s presence in
the world. Let us pray that we will look upon the world with
eyes of love, with the eyes of Jesus, recognizing our brothers
and sisters who need our help, who are awaiting our word and our
action.
Having given thanks and praise, the Lord then breaks the bread
and gives it to the disciples. Breaking the bread is the act of
the father of the family who looks after his children and gives
them what they need for life. But it is also the act of
hospitality with which the stranger, the guest, is received
within the family and is given a share in its life. Dividing (dividere),
sharing (condividere) brings about unity. Through sharing,
communion is created. In the broken bread, the Lord distributes
himself. The gesture of breaking also alludes mysteriously to
his death, to the love that extends even to death. He
distributes himself, the true "bread for the life of the world"
(cf. Jn 6:51). The nourishment that man needs in his deepest
self is communion with God himself. Giving thanks and praise,
Jesus transforms the bread, he no longer gives earthly bread,
but communion with himself. This transformation, though, seeks
to be the start of the transformation of the world -- into a
world of resurrection, a world of God. Yes, it is about
transformation -- of the new man and the new world that find
their origin in the bread that is consecrated, transformed,
transubstantiated.
We said that breaking the bread is an act of communion, an act
of uniting through sharing. Thus, in the act itself, the
intimate nature of the Eucharist is already indicated: it is
agape, it is love made corporeal. In the word "agape", the
meanings of Eucharist and love intertwine. In Jesus’ act of
breaking the bread, the love that is shared has attained its
most radical form: Jesus allows himself to be broken as living
bread. In the bread that is distributed, we recognize the
mystery of the grain of wheat that dies, and so bears fruit. We
recognize the new multiplication of the loaves, which derives
from the dying of the grain of wheat and will continue until the
end of the world. At the same time, we see that the Eucharist
can never be just a liturgical action. It is complete only if
the liturgical agape then becomes love in daily life. In
Christian worship, the two things become one -- experiencing the
Lord’s love in the act of worship and fostering love for one’s
neighbour. At this hour, we ask the Lord for the grace to learn
to live the mystery of the Eucharist ever more deeply, in such a
way that the transformation of the world can begin to take
place.
After the bread, Jesus takes the chalice of wine. The Roman
Canon describes the chalice which the Lord gives to his
disciples as "praeclarus calix" (the glorious cup), thereby
alluding to Psalm 23 [22], the Psalm which speaks of God as the
Good Shepherd, the strong Shepherd. There we read these words:
"You have prepared a banquet for me in the sight of my foes … My
cup is overflowing" -- calix praeclarus. The Roman Canon
interprets this passage from the Psalm as a prophecy that is
fulfilled in the Eucharist: yes, the Lord does indeed prepare a
banquet for us in the midst of the threats of this world, and he
gives us the glorious chalice -- the chalice of great joy, of
the true feast, for which we all long -- the chalice filled with
the wine of his love. The chalice signifies the wedding-feast:
now the "hour" has come to which the wedding-feast of Cana had
mysteriously alluded. Yes indeed, the Eucharist is more than a
meal, it is a wedding-feast. And this wedding is rooted in God’s
gift of himself even to death. In the words of Jesus at the Last
Supper and in the Church’s Canon, the solemn mystery of the
wedding is concealed under the expression "novum Testamentum".
This chalice is the new Testament -- "the new Covenant in my
blood", as Saint Paul presents the words of Jesus over the
chalice in today’s second reading (1 Cor 11:25). The Roman Canon
adds: "of the new and everlasting covenant", in order to express
the indissolubility of God’s nuptial bond with humanity. The
reason why older translations of the Bible do not say Covenant,
but Testament, lies in the fact that this is no mere contract
between two parties on the same level, but it brings into play
the infinite distance between God and man. What we call the new
and the ancient Covenant is not an agreement between two equal
parties, but simply the gift of God who bequeaths to us his love
-- himself. Certainly, through this gift of his love, he
transcends all distance and makes us truly his "partners" -- the
nuptial mystery of love is accomplished.
In order to understand profoundly what is taking place here, we
must pay even greater attention to the words of the Bible and
their original meaning. Scholars tell us that in those ancient
times of which the histories of Israel’s forefathers speak, to
"ratify a Covenant" means "to enter with others into a bond
based on blood or to welcome the other into one’s own covenant
fellowship and thus to enter into a communion of mutual rights
and obligations". In this way, a real, if non-material form of
consanguinity is established. The partners become in some way
"brothers of the same flesh and the same bones". The covenant
brings about a fellowship that means peace (cf. ThWNT II,
105-137). Can we now form at least an idea of what happened at
the hour of the Last Supper, and what has been renewed ever
since, whenever we celebrate the Eucharist? God, the living God,
establishes a communion of peace with us, or to put it more
strongly, he creates "consanguinity" between himself and us.
Through the incarnation of Jesus, through the outpouring of his
blood, we have been drawn into an utterly real consanguinity
with Jesus and thus with God himself. The blood of Jesus is his
love, in which divine life and human life have become one. Let
us pray to the Lord, that we may come to understand ever more
deeply the greatness of this mystery. Let us pray that in our
innermost selves its transforming power will increase, so that
we truly acquire consanguinity with Jesus, so that we are filled
with his peace and grow in communion with one another.
Now, however, a further question arises. In the Upper Room,
Christ gives his Body and Blood to the disciples, that is, he
gives himself in the totality of his person. But can he do so?
He is still physically present in their midst, he is standing in
front of them! The answer is: at that hour, Jesus fulfils what
he had previously proclaimed in the Good Shepherd discourse: "No
one takes my life from me: I lay it down of my own accord. I
have power to lay it down and I have power to take it again …" (Jn
10:18). No one can take his life from him: he lays it down by
his own free decision. At that hour, he anticipates the
crucifixion and resurrection. What is later to be fulfilled, as
it were, physically in him, he already accomplishes in
anticipation, in the freedom of his love. He gives his life and
he takes it again in the resurrection, so as to be able to share
it for ever.
Lord, today you give us your life, you give us yourself. Enter
deeply within us with your love. Make us live in your "today".
Make us instruments of your peace! Amen.
© Copyright 2009 -- Libreria Editrice Vaticana
