Homily | June 7, 2026 | Corpus Christi And The Claim That Changes Everything | (Episode 151)

In 1950, a shy young writer from Georgia sat at a dinner party in New York City.

She was surrounded by intellectuals, by artists and academics, some of the brightest minds in America.

Her name was Flannery O'Connor.

The conversation turned to religion and eventually to the Eucharist.

One of the guests, a former Catholic, remarked that she had come to think of the Eucharist as a symbol.

A very beautiful symbol, she said.

Flannery O'Connor almost never spoke at gatherings like these, but that night she did.

She looked across the table and said, Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.

Years later she explained what she meant.

It is the center of existence for me.

All the rest of life is expendable.

That's the question of Corpus Christi.

Not whether the Eucharist is beautiful, not whether it's meaningful, not whether it inspires people.

The question is, is it really him?

Because if it is only a symbol, then we're wasting an awful lot of time.

If it's only bread, then we should have just slept in this morning.

Let's stop building churches.

Let's stop genuflecting.

Let's stop adoring.

Let's stop carrying the monstrance through the streets.

If it is only a symbol, then Flannery O'Connor was right.

But if it is truly Jesus Christ, body, blood, soul, and divinity, then there is nothing more important happening on earth right now than what's gonna about to take place on this altar.

Nothing.

Not the stock market, not politics, not sports, not social media, not your career, not even your vacation plans.

Nothing.

Because here heaven touches earth.

Here eternity enters time.

Here God becomes food for his people.

And yet we live in a strange moment.

Many Catholics no longer know what they believe about the Eucharist.

Some think it is a symbol, some think it's a nice reminder.

Some others think it's simply a sacred tradition that we enter into.

But today's gospel leaves no room for that.

Jesus says, My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.

The crowd is horrified.

How can this man give us his flesh to eat?

Notice what Jesus does not say.

He does not say, wait, you're misunderstanding this.

He does not say, I'm speaking metaphorically.

He does not say, okay, it's a metaphor.

Instead, he repeats himself again and again and again.

This John's chapter six is what we use, what we take for our theology on the Eucharist.

But when Jesus is teaching here, his disciples begin to walk away.

If you go to John's chapter 6, verse 66, it says, And those who did not believe left him.

It's the only time in the Gospels where Jesus loses disciples over a teaching, and he lets them go.

He lets them leave.

Think about that.

People walked away from Jesus and he let them go.

Because the truth was too important.

Yes, the crowd became smaller.

The disciples were fewer.

And Jesus turned to the twelve and asks them, Do you also want to leave?

That question echoes across 20 centuries.

Do you also want to leave?

Or will you stay?

Will you trust him even when you can't fully understand this mystery?

Peter answered, Lord, to whom shall we go?

You have words of eternal life.

That's faith.

Not understanding everything, not having everything figured out, not having all of our questions answered, but trusting the one who is speaking.

And who is this one asking us to believe?

Well, he is the God who became a child in Bethlehem.

He is the God who touched lepers and healed them.

He is the God who opened the blind eyes.

He is the God who carried a cross, the God who died, the God who rose from the dead, the God who ascended back to the Father in heaven.

And the God who somehow decided that leaving us was not enough.

Think about that.

The ascension happened.

Jesus returned to the Father.

He completed his mission.

He could have gone home.

He could have said, I've done enough.

Instead, he found a way to remain.

Because love always desires to remain near the beloved.

A young man in love wants to be near his wife, the woman he loves.

Parents want to be near their children.

Grandparents keep photographs close because they miss those they love.

Love always moves towards presence.

And no one loves no one loves you more than Jesus.

So he stayed.

Not in a memory, not in a story, not in a symbol.

He stayed in the Eucharist.

He knew there would be nights when your marriage was struggling.

He knew there would be days when your anxiety was overwhelming.

He knew there would be funerals, cancer diagnoses, loneliness, parents who are aging, addiction, betrayals, gravesides.

He knew there would be moments when you felt absolutely abandoned.

So he left us something astonishing.

Not merely advice, not merely a book of teachings, not merely anything, but he leaves himself.

In every tabernacle of the world is God's declaration, I am still here.

When you walk into this church on any afternoon and no one else is around, he's here.

When your heart is broken and disappointed, he's here.

When your faith is weak, he's here.

When your prayers feel unanswered, he's here.

When everyone else has walked away, he's here.

And that's the miracle of Corpus Christi.

The miracle is not only that bread becomes Christ, the miracle is that Christ refuses to leave you.

That's why saints fell in love with the Eucharist.

That's why Thomas Aquinas spent hours kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament.

That's why the martyrs of Aventine said, without Sunday Eucharist we cannot live.

And they were killed for it.

That's why young Carlos Acutis called the Eucharist my highway to heaven.

That's why the greatest, that's why generation after generation has built cathedrals, lit candles, and knelt in adoration.

Not because they worshiped bread, but because they had discovered someone, someone who loved them, someone who remained, someone who stays.

And in a few moments, on that altar, Jesus will come to you.

The King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Creator of Galaxies, the Savior who hung on Calvary, he will make himself small enough to fit into your mouth, small enough to enter into your heart, small enough to become your food.

The world has never seen humility like that.

So when you come forward today and hear the words the body of Christ, do not answer casually.

Do not answer out of habit.

Do not answer because that's what you've done your whole life.

It's not a moment to say thank you, it is a moment to say amen.

Because that amen means I believe.

I trust.

I know who you are.

I know you are here.

And perhaps more importantly, I know you stayed for me.

Because that's the message of Corpus Christi.

Love does not send a symbol.

Love shows up.

Love remains.

Love stays.

After two thousand plus years, through every war, every scandal, every empire, every generation, Jesus Christ is still here.

He remains among us.

On this altar, in this church, waiting for you to come and receive him.

And so, my brothers and sisters, this time receiving him, receive him, knowing exactly who it is that comes to meet you.

The Lord that loves you, the Lord that says to you, I will be with you always.

Amen.