Homily

That evening in Emmaus, from the mouth of two disciples, comforted in their sadness by a stranger who had become a companion on their journey, was spoken that simple and splendid invocation: "Stay with us, because it is almost evening" (Lk 24:29). Since then, that stranger has remained forever with all peoples, has made himself their companion on their long journey through history. While the disciples of every nation are walking along the many paths of the world, he is among them to comfort and instruct them and, even to correct, cut out and undo their harshness and misunderstanding. The houses of the disciples have multiplied and Jesus, in each one of their houses, continues to take bread and break it for all. That broken bread has become the nutriment and sustenance for the disciples along their journey. In this sense, the feast of the Body and Blood of Christ, although instituted by the Church twelve centuries after that supper in Emmaus, anchors its roots precisely in those days. Perhaps to say it better, it establishes itself between the cenacle in Jerusalem and the one in Emmaus which both frame the death and resurrection of the Lord.
With the narration of the Last Supper described by Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians, this Sunday’s liturgy presents us again with these strong and concrete words: "This is my body," "This is my blood." This is the mystery of faith, truly an immense mystery, as we respond in the Eucharistic liturgy immediately after the consecration. It is not a mystery so much in the sense that we cannot fully comprehend it; rather, more than being a mysterious reality in the field of intellectual knowledge, it is an incredible sign of the Lord’s love, the mystery of a continuous and most particular presence. I say "most particular" because Jesus is not only actually present in the Eucharist, which alone is an awesome thing, but is present as a "broken" body and as blood "poured out." Therefore, he is not present in just any manner, but as a friend who gives his life for those whom he loves. In this sense, the feast of Corpus Domini is the celebration of a body that is able to manifest its wounds and from whose side pour forth "blood and water," as the apostle John notes.
In the tradition of this feast, still practiced in some places, the Eucharist is processed through the streets and cities and countryside which are decorated with flowers for the coming of the Lord. It is right to celebrate! Indeed, we need the one who did not come to be served, but to serve, to the point of giving his life for us, to continue to walk along our streets. We must take care, however, for the Lord can come only under the semblance of a stranger (as he was for those disciples on the road to Emmaus)—that is, as one who is not one of us, who is not a part of our group, and who does not think as we do. He comes from outside. Even his body is present among us in a manner completely different from our own bodies: we are attentive to and concerned about our bodies, whereas he is present with a "broken" body. We are bent on defending ourselves, employing every kind of cure and device, whereas he comes among us pouring out all of his blood. This Host continuously contests (in this sense he is a "foreigner") our way of living, our solicitous attention to our well-being, our avoidance of fatigue, and our tendency to flee from every heavy responsibility. In essence, each one of us clings to our savings when it comes to spending for others. The Lord, in this Host, reveals to us a completely different way. Then let the procession of Corpus Domini come! May it traverse our streets, not simply so that it can receive a superficial tribute, but rather so that it may traverse our hearts and render them more similar to Jesus’ heart. The destiny of the Word of the Lord, which is "sharper than any two-edged sword" (Heb 4:12), is the same for his body: it is given to us so that we may transform through him. Just as Paul says, the Lord made himself a nutriment for all people, so that we may all be transformed into one body, the body of Christ, and so that we may have the same thoughts and feelings as Christ.
There is another consideration to make, one that is connected to the parable of the multiplication of the loaves. Every day our streets are traversed by processions of Corpus Domini, even if the streets are not decorated and no one is throwing flowers; rather there are those, who strew indifference, if not spew forth insults! These are the processions of the poor, of those who are from our neighbourhood, of those who arrive from afar and of the many who are far from us. All of them are the "body of Christ", and they continue to walk along the streets of our cities and of the world without anyone to care for them. Saint John Chrysostom’s warning seems to me particularly decisive: "If you want to honour the body of Christ, do not disdain it when it is nude. Do not honour the Eucharistic Christ with silken vestments, while outside of the church you neglect that other Christ who is naked and afflicted by the cold." Both bodies are the real body of Christ, who is not divided, as long as we do not divide him ourselves.