Altogether Unexpected…

Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway (J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit)

There is much I could draw from my experience and much I could share here. To reflect on the quote above, I think the story of struggle is the better tale to tell. The tale is of course the one of the cradle Catholic. The oft-heard complaint of those who drift from the Church. My tale of course is not the same as all, nor is it much different from others, but it is my tale and my experience and if someone should find a similarity, well, all the better. While this is not the story of how a Baggins had an adventure, it is one of how I found myself “doing and saying things altogether unexpected” (The Hobbit, p. 1).

I think of myself as having a very practical spirituality. While I love to write about my spiritual life, I’m wary of expressing my spiritual experiences in an emotional way. I’m very skeptical of overly emotional spiritual expressions as I’ve found that sometimes they are not really sustaining. Something akin to the seed that falls on rocky ground, it sprouts up quickly and dies because there is no root (Matthew 13:5-6).

However, recently, I found myself having a new experience with Mass. I don’t know that I would call it an emotional reaction, then again, I don’t know that I would not call it an emotional reaction. Truth be told, with many spiritual occurrences, it’s just really hard to tell.

Over the past year, I have been planning and organizing a conference for 300 people. Last Saturday all the plans and organizing came to fruition. The week began with people arriving from all over the world and throughout the week I ran to and from the airport to greet guests. I helped people navigate Krakow and connect with each other. I arranged meetings and gatherings, and in the end, I had to pay all the bills, and of course, manage many last-minute details and unexpected problems.

By Saturday when the main part of the conference started, I was beyond exhausted. About mid-morning I felt weary. That is the word that comes to mind. There are many ways to interpret the word weary, but I think, drained, worn-out, sapped of energy, and weakened are good synonyms for how I felt. I remember thinking amid all the excitement and enthusiasm, that I wish I weren’t so tired. I wish I could tap into the energy and enthusiasm others were experiencing.

I don’t think that my fatigue is all that unusual but what started to dawn in my awareness was something I had not ever before experienced. After lunch, on Saturday, and into the afternoon I felt a longing to go to Mass. I can’t quite describe the feeling. There have been many times in my life when I’ve wanted to go to Mass. Many times when I’ve been hurt or confused, in pain or tired, angry or in fear. Times when I’ve felt excited or in love, happy or elated, and times when I wanted to spend hours in adoration or celebration of the Mass. Different times of the year, such as Christmas, Lent, or Easter, produce a yearning in me when I long for the sights and smells of the church, the artwork and the music. But Saturday I experienced something very deep and unexpected. It was almost like wanting to return to the Shire after a long adventure. Not with excitement and fanfare, but quietly, unannounced, to return home in the dark of night and be lifted up in the Eucharist.

I often hear people talk about their rejection of the Catholic Church along with why they don’t want to go to Mass. Things like, I don’t need anyone between me and God or I hate what that priest has to say. Sometimes I hear things about the physical building of the church, the art is too extravagant, it’s too formal, why would I go to church when I can connect with God at home, or something similar. All of these things may be true (and of course I could write about each of these statements in turn), but what I felt Saturday is what comes to mind when I hear the above arguments. It’s like being in the middle of the desert dying of thirst and rejecting the bottle of water offered to me because I don’t like the politics behind the brand of water. I’d rather die of thirst than accept the life-giving water.

On Saturday I was in need of life-giving water. My reaction was entirely instinctual. I feel as though my words are failing me, but at the end of the day don’t all words fail when it comes to the mystery of Christ and his Church? The mystery of divine action in the Eucharist?

The Eucharist is the source and summit. It is the spiritual remedy to that which ails the world. I remember feeling slightly awkward when in one of my theology classes the priest said that by receiving the Eucharist we are divinized. I stumbled with this. It seems to go contrary to my thinking. To divinize means to invest with divine character, to deify, to slowly imbue with God, to absorb and become God. The greatest mystery and divine gift is that Jesus truly does give himself to us in a divine union in the Eucharist.

I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” (John 6:51).

Can this actually be true? Can I really believe that I am eating the flesh and blood of God? I mean really eating his flesh and blood? Do accept this truth in my being? That through eating God I become God? That I am filled with what God is and the more I participate the more I become like him. And I can become this way through a spiritual union as well, a spiritual communion even when I cannot be present at Mass.

These are the foundations of faith. I do not believe that I understood or even now, fully understand this. Sometimes I find myself thinking as the others quite often do. What?? Eat his flesh??

The Jews quarreled among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us [his] flesh to eat?”

Jesus said to them, “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven. Unlike your ancestors who ate and still died, whoever eats this bread will live forever” (John 52-59).

To really meditate on these truths and act with the faith that it may be so is a foundational action that I have been taking for many years now. And at times I have felt as many of his disciples.

Then many of his disciples who were listening said, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” [John 6:60].

These ideas are just as shocking today as they were at the time of Christ.

Since Jesus knew that his disciples were murmuring about this, he said to them, “Does this shock you?”… As a result of this, many [of] his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him. [John 6:61, 66].

I see this all the time. But it is not as one would expect. In John’s gospel, he does not say that the disciples left him, it says that they “no longer accompanied him.” They just drifted away.

I know at times it is almost impossible for me to get to Mass. Luckily, I live in Poland and there is Mass from before sunup to long past sundown. We can go on Saturday evening, as I did this past week since the conference started early on Sunday morning. But sometimes we are prevented from feeding our soul by prejudice, misunderstanding, or the fact that sometimes we simply cannot go because of a life that involves caring for sick children or family members, or as we saw in the pandemic, governmental lockdown. But even so, we can come to God in a spiritual union, ask to have the Eucharist brought to us, or go to Mass during the week.

But I digress… back to the unexpected journey. I did go to Mass after the conference ended on Saturday evening. It was not the cozy feeling I was craving, I did not find the homily particularly fascinating, nor did I leave feeling energized. As a matter of fact, I don’t know that I felt any different after I left Mass than I did before. But I find that the Eucharist acts upon my soul much in the same way as most kinds of medicine. I might not feel better after that first dose of antibiotics but eventually, I’m healthy again. I know that attending Mass had an effect on me that I probably will never recognize. And now I find myself saying and doing things that I would never have expected to say or do. This shift from going to Mass because it’s Sunday to going to Mass because I long for the life-giving sustenance of the Eucharist has happened slowly and subtly. And I know I am not at the end of the long adventure. I am perhaps somewhere in the middle with struggles and difficulties to come.