Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus (2026)

 

When I was preparing for this week, I came across an old quote attributed to comedian George Carlin. 

As many know, Carlin was often critical of religion. The quote goes something like this:

"Tell people there is an invisible man in the sky who created the universe and they'll believe you. Tell them the paint is wet and they'll have to touch it to be sure."

Carlin's point, of course, was that people can be surprisingly willing to believe certain things while being skeptical about others. 

He was questioning religion and faith and asking, "How can people believe in something they cannot see?"

But whether or not you agree with Carlin, he touches on something interesting about human nature.

We do struggle with believing what we cannot see. We want proof. We want something we can touch. Something we can measure. Something we can experience.

And maybe the beautiful thing is this: God understands that about us.

God knows we are physical creatures. We learn through seeing and hearing and touching. 

We gather around tables. We hug people we love. We hold the hand of someone who is hurting. We understand things through our senses.

So God did not remain distant.

He came closer.

In the Old Testament, when the Israelites wandered through the desert hungry and afraid, God fed them with manna from heaven.

Then God came even closer.

"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us."

In Jesus Christ, people saw God. They walked with Him. They sat at table with Him. They heard His voice. They touched Him.

And on this feast of Corpus Christi, we celebrate something even more astonishing.

Jesus still comes to us.

Not simply as an idea.

Not simply as a memory.

Not simply as an inspiring story from long ago.

He places Himself into our hands and into our hearts.

And that brings us right into today's Gospel.

Jesus says something shocking:

"I am the living bread that came down from heaven… and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world."

And immediately people begin arguing:

"How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"

In other words:

"Jesus, we're going to need proof."

What's remarkable is that Jesus doesn't soften the teaching.

He doesn't say, "Relax everybody, I was only speaking symbolically."

Instead, He says:

"My flesh is true food and my blood is true drink."

He repeats it.

He doubles down.

Because Jesus isn't giving them an idea.

He's giving them Himself.

The first reading today takes us back to the Israelites in the desert. Moses reminds them how God fed them with manna during forty years of wandering.

But notice something interesting: God didn't give them forty years worth of manna all at once.

He gave them enough for the day.

Morning after morning.

Enough for the journey.

Maybe that's because God wasn't simply teaching them how to eat. He was teaching them how to trust.

Because life itself sometimes feels like a desert.

People come into church carrying burdens nobody else sees.

Worries about children and grandchildren.

Health concerns.

Loneliness.

Grief.

Financial pressures.

Questions about the future.

Maybe some people come here today spiritually exhausted.

Running on empty.

Wondering whether they have enough strength for whatever comes next.

And Jesus says:

"Come to me. I will feed you."

Not with ordinary bread.

With Himself.

Now do we fully understand how bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ?

No.

But faith isn't pretending to understand everything.

Faith is trusting the One who speaks.

And for two thousand years people have come forward with empty hands and open hearts and discovered something extraordinary:

Strength.

Peace.

Hope.

Forgiveness.

The living presence of Christ.

In a few moments we will come forward once again.

And maybe instead of asking, "How can this be?" perhaps today we simply pray:

"Lord, I may not understand everything… but I trust you."

Because the God of the universe chose not to remain distant.

He came close.

Close enough to touch our lives.

Close enough to place Himself into our hands.

Close enough to become food for the journey.