When I came back to work from a doctor’s appointment the parking lot was crammed, forcing me to stow my car on the street. “What gives?” I asked the head admin when I came inside. 

“It’s the National Day of Prayer,” she said. 

“Already?”

“Time flies.” 

“Is there food afterwards?” I said, noticing that my stomach was rumbling. 

“Right afterwards. They’re all gathered outside.”  

Since the local churches give generously to my food pantry, I figured my attendance was mandatory. Because of my appointment, however, I was late, forcing me to make an awkward entrance just as everyone was singing The National Anthem. Finding a seat in the back, I enjoyed the feel of the warm spring sun on my back as several pastors, a deacon, Iman, rabbi and a nun offered noticeably ecumenical prayers for our town and country. When it was the Presbyterian minister’s remarks, he said. “We were tasked to pray for nice weather today and God delivered. Just giving my church a plug.” 

After the service concluded with singing “America the Beautiful,” I shook hands with several religious leaders and donors and then went into the auditorium for my free lunch – but the tables were bare. “There was a screwup,” the admin, said, looking horrified. “The caterer was under the impression this was next week. They’re rushing to get it here.” Looking at the others waiting for their free lunch I said, “Time for the miracle of the loaves and fishes. If one of these ministers can pull it off, I’ll go to his church.” 

“Watch,” a minister who overheard me, said. “It’ll be the Muslim guy.” 

“I have to go to my office,” I told the admin. “Call me when it gets here.” 

An hour later, the food finally arrived but all the ministers and several of the seniors who’d shown up for the service had left. “I can hear the blood sugar levels crashing,” I said. “Even Jesus knew you need food to lure people in.” 

“How so?” one of my co-workers said. 

“The Last Supper? Do you think the apostles would’ve shown up if there wasn’t food?”

“You’re bad.” 

“The Eucharist was a real meal originally,” I said, lapsing into professorial mode. “And I’m sure people back then were saying, ‘Simon puts on a better spread than Jacob. Let’s go to his house!’ Some of the earliest writings of the church were cautions regarding drunkenness at the Lord’s Supper.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“I’m sure some worshippers showed up pre-medicated.” 

With short notice, the caterer did the best he could, and the admin liberated leftover fruit juices and waters from a recent blood drive to shore up the beverage supply. When you factor that in plus the people who left, there was just enough food and drink for everybody. A kind of half ass miracle, but a miracle, nonetheless. After I had my half sandwich and potato salad, I went back upstairs to mind the food pantry. 

Things are getting bad, and I fear, with the way the economy is going, they’ll just get worse. Clients are coming more often, taking more supplies, and I’m getting more people from outside my catchment area than usual. Luckily our supplies are holding, but I’m starting to worry. We made it through COVID with flying colors but now we seem to be entering uncharted territory. “We’re all going to be on food stamps soon,” I groused to a volunteer. “That is if Donald doesn’t gut that program as well.” After several clients came and went, I surveyed our supplies of fresh meat and eggs and noticed that what we’d purchased only days before was almost gone. 

“Give us this day our daily bread,” is prayed in churches every day. A literal translation of those words from the Greek would be, “The bread of us belonging to tomorrow give to us today,” but could also be rendered Bread adequate for today’s needs. Yeah, just “daily bread” works too but, as David Bentley Hart wrote, “… I doubt most of us quite hear the note of desperation in that [Greek wording] – the very real uncertainty, suffered every day, concerning whether today one will have enough food to survive.” If you can’t eat, not much else is going to get done. Jesus was a realist. 

When it comes to the Eucharist, it drives me nuts that in an ostensibly Christian country so many people go hungry. Feeding people was what Jesus was all about, even to the point of that food being his own body and blood. But too often the Eucharist gets buried under a ton of religious errata. When I was in seminary, we were taught all about transubstantiation, bowed before the tabernacle containing the Sacred Host, and every Sunday adored a consecrated wafer encased in a gold monstrance on the altar. While I have absolutely no problem with any of that stuff, I’ve always wondered why people could go to Mass on Sunday and be such shits to people the rest of the week. “Some people,” my priest godfather once wagged, “Think Mass is some kind of magic show.” 

Hocus pocus theology drives me insane. In fact, some people think “hocus pocus” comes from the whispered words of consecration used during the old Latin Mass – “Hoc Est Enim Corpus Meum” when the priest didn’t face the faithful and they had to ring a bell to let them know what was going on.  (In the Eastern Rite, they still don’t face the congregation but sing Jesus’ words loud and clear.) Some of my classmates were so enthralled with the whole “Real Presence” thing that they sometimes pulled shit bordering on ecclesiastical offenses. We had one guy, whom I’ll call Jose, who kept the Blessed Sacrament in his room for private devotion which is a no no. So, one day, we broke into his room, removed the host from the gold pyx he stored it in, reverently consumed it, and then dropped the open pyx into his aquarium. “If you ever want to see Jesus again,” the ransom note we left read. “We want $50,000 in small bills or else.” As you can imagine, Jose’s reaction was epic.

The Eucharist, despite now being a stripped down meal, is still just that, a communal meal and never meant to be a private thing. In Pre-Vatican II days, Roman Catholic priests often would celebrate mass alone, which kind defeated the purpose. Who likes eating alone? In the Eastern Churches, last I checked, it is forbidden for a priest to celebrate the Divine Liturgy alone, a testament to its communal character. But boy, the rubrics and rules surrounding the whole thing can border on the ridiculous. “If you like, go into a bakery with a glass of Chardonnay,” I asked a professor, “And say the words of consecration, is everything in the bakery now the Body of our Savior?” It was the kind of typical smart ass remark I was famous for, but the answer I got blew my mind. 

“No,” the professor calmly stated. “The priest can only confect the Eucharist (What is this, taffy?) on a specific place on the altar that is covered with a corporal. (A square linen cloth.) That’s the zone of intention and anything outside it is not consecrated.” 

“So, if someone in the congregation had a roll in their pocket,” I said. “That wouldn’t undergo sacramental change?  

“No,” the priest said with a straight face. “And it’d have to be unleavened bread anyway.” See what I’m talking about? But it gets even better. 

A few years before I came to the seminary, our chapel caught fire and burned down. The upperclassmen still around who’d witnessed it would regale us newbies with the tale of a guy who, upon seeing the conflagration, tried to rush into the burning building to “save the Blessed Sacrament.” Luckily the Rector put a stop to that saying, in effect, “We can make more.” Did that lunatic really think Jesus wanted him to risk his life to save a wafer? I mean, c’mon. 

I know some people think I’m being sacrilegious here, but I’m not.  Though I’m no longer a practicing Catholic, I think the sacred elements should always be treated with devotion and respect, but I think people often lose sight of the fact that the Church, the ecclesia or assembly, is the Body of Christ too. While I might be crossing into heresy here, I’ve always thought that “Body” meant not just those gathered in St. Agnes on Sunday but the entire human race – no matter their religion or lack thereof. As the original Canon of Paul VI’s Mass read, Jesus said his blood was shed “for you and for all.” Everybody. So, if the sacramental celebration of the Lord’s Supper is divorced from meeting the needs of people who actually hunger and thirst, what’s the point? Living breathing people must be the zone of intention, otherwise, it’s all a magic show – Hoc Est Abracadabra and Alacazam. 

Luckily, all the faith communities in my town seem to put their money where their mouth is. Whether they’re Catholic, Methodist, Episcopalian, Lutheran, Evangelical, Pentecostal, Hindus, Jews, or Muslims (Or schools, business, scouts, civic groups or just plain individuals) they’ve all donated to my food pantry many times. And, as I’m helping bring supplies in, watching volunteers sort donations, or clients carry out groceries. I realize I never really strayed far from where I started. I might not be clad in robes presiding over an altar swinging incense but, in a small yet very real way, with the help of my community – the assembly – I help people get their “Daily Bread.” And that’s the Eucharist too. 

Funny how that worked out.