Lord, I Am Not Worthy.
James Tissot (1836–1902) The Sunday Gospel
Prv 9:1-6
Ps 34:2-7
Eph 5:15-20
Jn 6:51-58
This Gospel puts me in a New York state of mind.
Encountering this Sunday’s passage from John’s Gospel, I can’t help but think back to a stretch of West 31st Street in New York City where, not far from Madison Square Garden, you can find the Church of St Francis of Assisi and, just outside, on any given morning, you’ll see the legendary St Francis Breadline.
It began during the Depression, when hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers needed some form of assistance. Many needed help just to find something to eat or a place to live. So, the breadline was born. Since that time, for nearly a century, the Franciscan friars have been passing out sandwiches, coffee and compassion on 31st Street.
“We only have one rule,” the Franciscans say, “no questions asked. We take people as they are, our brothers and sisters in Christ.”
Gesture
This simple gesture assures those in line that they won’t go hungry – at least for a little while – and offers a sense of comfort, maybe even a feeling that they are loved.
In the simplest and most basic form, what strangers receive from that breadline is, in so many ways, the bread of life. It helps keep them alive.
But John’s Gospel reminds us that what we hunger for is more than food to fill our stomachs. So often, we hunger for hope to fill our hearts. We desire something richer. Mercy. Dignity. Grace. Maybe what we really want is a sense of closeness to God. Which, of course, connects us powerfully to Christ and the bread he offers, the Eucharist.
This Sunday’s Scriptures are especially timely, as the United States has embarked on a Eucharistic Revival. The media has been full of stories of processions and liturgies, of monstrance raised and heads bowed, as Catholics have reaffirmed faith in the Blessed Sacrament. We’ve seen dramatic images from around the country of people falling to their knees in devotion.
It’s helped to remind us that the bread of life is also the bread of love.
We have been blessed these months with many opportunities to realise anew the singular power of this extraordinary gift: Christ himself, coming to us in something as simple as bread.
“This,” Jesus explains, “is the bread that came down from Heaven.”
But as much as this Sunday’s readings are an affirmation of faith, they are also an invitation.
“Taste and see,” the psalmist says, “the goodness of the Lord.”
“The one who feeds on me,” Jesus adds, “will have life because of me … whoever eats this bread will live forever.”
In Jesus’ day, of course, his listeners were bewildered, angered and even scandalised. Many just couldn’t believe it. Even now, people have a hard time accepting the idea of consuming Christ’s flesh and drinking his blood. It is a mystery too many find just incomprehensible.
In spite of everything, we ask to be fed. And then something that sounds impossible becomes possible, in a heart-rending gift of grace”
But maybe that’s the point.
God’s overpowering love – his generous giving of himself through his Son, who then gives himself to us again and again through something as humble as bread – can seem frankly incredible, just too hard for any of us to understand. Yet as he does so often, our God astonishes us. We pray at every Mass, “Lord, I am not worthy.” In spite of everything, we ask to be fed. And then something that sounds impossible becomes possible, in a heart-rending gift of grace.
As St Augustine put it, we become what we receive. We partake of the bread of life. We taste and see the goodness of the Lord.
And with that, we are not so different from the needy souls who line up outside the Church of St Francis. We become part of the greatest breadline in human history.
Deacon Greg Kandra is an award-winning author and journalist, and creator of the blog The Deacon’s Bench.