On Sunday, May 22, I received the valuable blood at a small Dominican priory. When the time got here for Communion, I progressed and received the host on my tongue, then the priest placed the chalice in my hands. I lifted the chalice to my lips and, for the primary time in two years and two months, I took and drank.
As I knelt afterward, barely shocked by this moment of grace, I discovered myself pondering of why we call this blood “precious.” In Latin it is definitely “most precious”—pretiosissimus. To say that it’s the most precious is to say that it’s of the very best value, the best price and probably the most honor. But after two years without it, I fear we’re forgetting what’s so precious about Christ’s blood and the reception of Communion in each forms.
After two years without it, I fear we’re forgetting what’s so precious about Christ’s blood and the reception of Communion in each forms.
Once I was a baby, my mother taught me to not receive from the chalice. Jesus was fully present in each the consecrated host and the consecrated wine, so you probably did not actually need to receive each. My mother was, in a possible way, right. To receive the body is to receive Christ fully; to receive the blood is to receive Christ fully. And yet, to receive just one is to miss something vital.
For the reason that starting of Covid-19, now we have been missing that something. Withholding the chalice was a worthwhile precaution (even when there’s little reason to consider drinking from the common cup brings a high risk of contracting Covid-19). But as restrictions on day by day life through the pandemic proceed to be dropped, the time has come to reconsider this sacramental restriction and recommit to the preciousness of receiving from the chalice of salvation.
The preciousness of reception in each kinds is grounded in Jesus’ Last Supper. Within the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says to his apostles: “Take and eat; that is my body.” But he doesn’t stop there. “Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you’” (Mt 26:27). For Jesus, the presence of each body and blood was crucial to the liturgy he celebrated and initiated. In celebrating the Last Supper, Jesus acted with intention, prioritizing what is important to the liturgy: bread, wine, eating, and drinking. In commemorating the liturgy he initiated, we supply forward Christ’s intention in our reception.
While reception from the cup became unusual for the laity within the Roman Rite, it was rightly restored after the Second Vatican Council. The restoration is an affidavit to the correct recognition of the dignity of the laity. We too—because of the grace of God, the facility of baptism and the contrition of our hearts—are welcome to receive, even when none of us are worthy that he should “enter under my roof.”
Reception under each kinds is a deeper understanding of the eucharistic sign. This will not be to say that a sacrament is merely a logo. I’m with Flannery O’Connor: “If it’s just a logo, to hell with it.” But believing that it will not be only a logo doesn’t mean that the symbolic is unimportant. The symbolism matters if we’re to know and live out the substance of the Eucharist.
We’d like the sustaining spiritual nourishment offered by bread and wine.
In a single vital sense, the symbolism of foods and drinks is obvious. We’d like the sustaining spiritual nourishment offered by bread and wine. St. Augustine, knowing that Jesus “has redeemed me together with his blood,” considered his own role as a priest in relation to the sacrament. “I’m mindful of my ransom. I eat it, I drink it. I dispense it to others, and as a pauper I long to be crammed with it amongst those that are fed and feasted.” As empty, we long for the spiritual food that fills us. As thirsty, we pray for the sacramental saturation of the deserts of our hearts. And within the experience of each, we live in solidarity with all those that lack foods and drinks and are called to share our foods and drinks with them.
But why wine? Wouldn’t water be a greater option to precise our neediness? Rehydrating with water is definitely wiser than with alcohol. True, during many historical periods, wine was safer to drink than water—which couldn’t all the time be trusted. But is that actually the explanation people drank it? If that’s the case, Jesus could have just purified the water at the marriage feast of Cana. As a substitute, he made 180 gallons of wine—enough to fill about 1,000 bottles. Seems a bit excessive for hydration purposes.
If wine will not be about quenching parched throats, what’s it for? Psalm 104 offers us the true reason: “Wine makes glad the hearts of men.” Bread sustains us, but wine is the stuff of celebrations, not only of weddings at Cana but of the final word wedding banquet in heaven.
The symbolic importance of the wine is the rejuvenating joy of communion in Christ. Wine is excessive, just as God’s love for us is. As wine fills us with joy, so too does the valuable blood, which washes us of our sins and fills us with joy. The reception of this joy is a summons to “be individuals who want to share their joy,” as Pope Francis teaches in “The Gospel of Joy.” To receive the blood is to experience the enjoyment of our reception into the body of Christ. We must always invite others into this joy.
At many parishes, after Mass you may now grab a donut from a tray. But you can’t receive the valuable blood.
Today usually are not exactly crammed with joy on the planet or the church. Exhausted by partisanship, anguished by gun violence and abortion, and anxious about rising costs and declining opportunities, we would love to look to the church for solace. But throughout the church, too, we frequently find scandal and embittered political partisanship. In a time of scandal and anger, of tension and grief, we want the enjoyment of reception again. We’d like to recollect what’s most precious.
People have continued, legitimate concerns about Covid-19 and can make decisions about their very own health. Nevertheless, as we open society, we should always not leave the chalice off limits. At many parishes, after Mass you may now grab a donut from a tray, pick up a Styrofoam cup of coffee and chat with fellow parishioners. But you can’t receive the valuable blood.
Actually, nobody needs to be pressured into reception from the chalice. That being said, we should be reminded of the worth of the Eucharist, and that’s best done within the practice of reception. There could also be ways to offset the priority of a standard cup through practices like intinction, good cleansing protocols and well-trained eucharistic ministers. In doing so, the goal needs to be to supply each the bread of life and the chalice of salvation as Jesus did within the upper room.
The bishops are calling for a eucharistic renewal, and Pope Francis is asking for a renewed commitment to the contemporary celebration of Mass. We’d like each desperately. But when we’re committed to each, then we should always be committed to reception of Communion in each forms. Because the Catechism of the Catholic Church and the General Instruction of the Roman Missal teach, “the sign of communion is more complete when given under each kinds, since in that form the sign of the Eucharistic meal appears more clearly.”
Eucharistic renewal, societal renewal and ecclesial renewal require remembering what is vital to us. This entails reordering our likes to put what’s most precious first: communion with God and each other.
After I received from the chalice in that small Dominican chapel, I considered these loves and the communion present in Communion, the sustenance present in the shared bread, the enjoyment present in wine, the completion present in each. And the salvation present in probably the most precious blood.
