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Sacred Scriptures/Liturgy- Commentary on Sunday's Readings |
Do This in Memory of Me
Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ
Fr. Raniero Cantalamessa, OFMCap, Pontifical Household Preacher
www.zenit.org
Genesis 14:18-20; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; Luke 9:11b-17
In the second reading of this feast, St. Paul presents us with the
most ancient account we have of the institution of the Eucharist,
written no more than about 20 years after the fact. Let us try to
find something new in the Eucharistic mystery, using the concept of
memorial: "Do this in memory of me."
Memory is one of the most mysterious and greatest powers of the
human spirit. Everything seen, heard and done from early childhood
is conserved in this immense womb, ready to reawaken and to dance
into the light either by an external stimulus or by our own will.
Without memory we will cease to be ourselves, we will lose our
identity. Those who are struck by total amnesia, wander lost on the
streets, without knowing their own name or where they live.
A memory, once it has come to mind, has the power to catalyze our
whole interior world and route everything toward its object,
especially if this is not a thing or a fact, but a living person.
When a mother remembers her child, who was born a few days ago and
is left at home, everything inside her flies toward her baby, a
movement of tenderness rises from her maternal depths and perhaps
brings tears to her eyes.
Not just the individual has memory; human groups -- family, tribe,
nation -- also have a collective memory. The wealth of a people is
not so much measured by the reserves of gold it holds in its vaults,
but rather by how many memories it holds in its collective
consciousness. It is the sharing of many memories that cements the
unity of a group. To keep such memories alive, they are linked to a
place, to a holiday.
Americans have Memorial Day, the day in which they remember those
who fell in all the wars; the Indians have the Gandhi Memorial, a
green park in New Delhi that is supposed to remind the nation who he
was and what he did. We Italians also have our memorials: The civil
holidays recall the most important events in our recent history, and
streets, piazzas and airports are dedicated to our most eminent
people.
This very rich human background in regard to memory should help us
better understand what the Eucharist is for the Christian people. It
is a memorial because it recalls the event to which all of humanity
now owes its existence as redeemed humanity: the death of the Lord.
But the Eucharist has something that distinguishes it from every
other memorial. It is memorial and presence together, even if hidden
under the signs of bread and wine. Memorial Day cannot bring those
who have fallen back to life; the Gandhi Memorial cannot make Gandhi
alive again. In a sense, the Eucharistic memorial, however,
according to the faith of Christians, does do this in regard to
Christ.
But together with all the beautiful things that we have said about
memory, we must mention a danger that is inherent to it. Memory can
be easily transformed into sterile and paralyzing nostalgia. This
happens when a person becomes the prisoner of his own memories and
ends up living in the past.
Indeed, the Eucharistic memorial does not pertain to this type of
memory. On the contrary, it projects us forward; after the
consecration the people say: "We proclaim your death, O Lord, and
confess your resurrection, until you come."
An antiphon attributed to St. Thomas Aquinas ("O sacrum convivium")
defines the Eucharist as the sacred feast in which "Christ is
received, the memory of his passion is celebrated, the soul is
filled with grace, and we are given the pledge of future glory."
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