Earthblog

Written by Kathleen Lundquist

I was involved earlier this week in a conversation about the troubles the worldwide Anglican communion is currently facing on Catholic And Enjoying It, Mark Shea’s popular blog. A few Anglicans and other Protestants joined in as we Catholics were attempting to make sense of the political strategies and their implications, the twists and turns of Anglican history, and the meetings upon meetings upon meetings. Many Catholics expressed a hope that some fed-up Anglicans would consider “swimming the Tiber” (i.e. converting to Roman Catholicism).

As a convert myself, I have been following the Anglican situation with – well, I guess you’d have to call it morbid fascination, like watching a car crash in slow motion. My husband and I made a brief rest stop in an Anglican mission parish in Portland shortly after we were married in 1997, but even then, internal tensions were tearing the parish apart, and we decided to pack up and move on down the trail to Rome. My heart went (and still goes) out to all the storm-tossed folks embroiled in intrachurch struggles.

One commenter in the discussion on Mark’s blog, a Methodist, politely but firmly declined the offer of sanctuary in the Catholic Church, and then made what he felt was a generous offer of his own:

I do hope that you will be able to share communion with your Anglican friends, and with all of us Protestants. As we believe, sharing communion is not some mythical final step in unity--it is the first. It is the most fundamental recognition that we are all Christians, even though we disagree on some doctrines. And I hope Rome will realize that some day.

Another commenter gently pointed out that the basis of our Christian identity is our common baptism into Christ, not our participation in the Eucharist. I saw an opportunity to explain the difference to this friendly Protestant fellow, so I began to share my own story. I wrote:

The way I came to understand the Eucharist (one of the first trap doors, I fell into, by the way) was this:

- First, through some tough emotional stuff, God began to stretch my imagination as to whether He could really be there in the bread and wine - not just as a symbol, or some quality or hazy feeling that would appear if I gritted my teeth and "believed" in it hard enough. What if He was really there in that gold box thingy over on that table? Why do I feel... kinda... warmed by the fire when I'm near it? Does Jesus love us that much, to come and stay with us? Could He really be there, objectively, whether or not I “believe” in it?

- How could this Mass ceremony be a real sacrifice, as Catholics keep insisting that it is? Jesus was sacrificed "once for all" on the Cross; there's no other sacrifice that atones for sins (that’s in Hebrews, I think). But I had learned from the postmodern evangelical radicals I was with (the church I attended at that time was called a “house church”) that during times of worship, we're supposed to be taken into the heavenlies, the presence of God where the angels and souls of the justified are - outside of our normal time and space, in kairos instead of kronos. What if Catholics are talking about Christ's sacrifice not in terms of a linear "again and again", but a participation in the Eternal Now, a folding of time and space that allows us to access the actual Sacrifice of Christ on the Cross, and for Him to make Himself known in our midst?

- OK, but what makes that possible? Only Christ can offer up Himself to the Father; anything less (us bringing food and drink, some guy saying magic words) isn't going to cut it. I then discovered the teaching of the ancient Church, which is that the priest stands "in persona Christi" and says His words, re-enacting His actions. Christ does offer up Himself; this is what makes the Sacrifice of the Mass a participation in Christ's one atoning Sacrifice.

- Here's where we reach our problem: How does Christ give a human being the authority to speak His words and re-enact His Sacrifice in such a fashion? The answer that presented itself to me in my studies was: apostolic succession and the rites instituted by the Apostles.

The conclusion I came to in my investigation of the issue was that as far as the Anglican church is concerned, the line was broken as a result of Henry VIII's defiance and subsequent theological developments. This is the place where I have to say sadly that this issue must be resolved before we can both come to the same table to receive the Body and Blood of our Lord.

I'm not trying to be triumphalist here; I've never felt very triumphalist about this issue. It makes me very sad. Jesus' heart is broken over the lack of visible unity in His Body on earth, and this is a place where I, for one, feel His pain.

I feel like we're all children of divorce here. Though the pain we feel makes us want to say, "Why can't we all just get along and live together again? Why can't we all just be a family again?", we have to face the issues that caused the breakup in order to restore the unity God wants for us. That's the reality.

This elicited a gracious but straightforward response (edited here):

I realize that the Roman Catholic church believes that a belief in transubstantiation is necessary to take the Lord's Supper. We don't, and in fact, we reject that interpretation of the Lord's Supper altogether. We also understand 1 Corinthians 11:29 differently than Rome teaches (I think the context of Ch. 11 and Paul's discussion of the body of Christ makes it clear what he's talking about)… What I'm saying is that I hope the Roman Catholic church will change its teachings on this matter and understand that Paul wasn't talking about transubstantiation.

With quiet excitement, I continued my story:

It's interesting that you mentioned I Corinthians 11, because that passage of Scripture was a large part of what convinced me of the truth of transubstantiation long before I ever got hold of any Catholic apologetics.

After attending a Mass in 1996 with friends in the Midwest (the imagination-stretching experience I described above), I was talking with them about my impressions, and I shared with them my perspective on I Cor. 11 that I had learned in my Protestant church.

(For those readers unfamiliar with the citation, I Cor. 11 is a passage which is used in many churches as a preface for communion – “But I received from the Lord Jesus that which I also delivered to you, that on the night He was betrayed, Jesus took bread, and when He had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is My body’…” (vv. 23-32). However, the important thing to remember is the context of this passage. Starting at v. 11, Paul is actually berating the Corinthians for screwing up the Lord’s Supper – basically saying, “Whatever you guys do when you get together, it’s not church. There are divisions among you; one leaves hungry, another gets drunk – in fact, you make it worse” (vv. 11-22). Then, he offers the instructions in vv. 23-32 as a correction – “This is how you do it.” Then in v. 33, again he picks up the theme of the community – “So, when you get together, wait for one another…” (vv. 33-34). So, when you focus on the connection, the phrase discerning the body of Christ (v. 29) becomes significant.)

The point I made to my friends in our discussion after Mass was: Whatever you may believe about the bread and the wine, the phrase "the body of Christ" refers as at least as much to the people in the room as to the bread and wine. We are, in fact, “transubstantiated” into the actual body of Christ through the Lord’s Supper. (This is what I'd learned as a Protestant evangelical.)

At this point one of my Catholic friends piped up and said, “Well, that’s Catholic theology.” I stopped short. I was stunned. “What?” “Yes – both Catholics and Eastern Orthodox believe that the transformation occurs both in the elements and in the people gathered.” This was quite unexpected news.

I had thought that my commitment to the body of Christ as people first united me to "the remnant" of true believers in Jesus across all denominations and separated me from all traditional forms of Christianity (which I thought were all dead formalism). It was a shock to discover, especially when I later got hold of the early Church Fathers, the forcefulness with which belief in the Real Presence, in both the Sacrament of the Altar and His people, was held and taught.

It was my belief in the Body of Christ as the people of God, and my experience of that fact as a Christian, that led me to believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. If He can infuse people with His grace, He surely has power over matter. Body, Blood, bread/wine, us, Church, Christ - they all smash together in the Eucharist. As Augustine said, "We become that which we have received" - that is, the Real Presence of Christ Himself.

The Eucharist is foundational to my conception of my identity as a Catholic, to my understanding of my particular charisms and where they come from, and to the way I live out my vocation as a Catholic laywoman in American society. Because God has transformed bread and wine into Himself and given Himself to me, as I take Him into my body, He takes me into His. I am thus transformed - transubstantiated, along with everyone else present - into the Body and Blood of Christ which must feed the world (that is, the tiny subset of it that we come in contact with on a given day). This is what gives me confidence as I reach out to people in need, or to people seemingly without needs, in whatever God is calling me to do. He has made me “bread for the world… wine for all people”, as the song goes. I don’t have to join some social justice program or lay movement to engage in the ministry that God has called me to and gifted me for; He empowers me through the Scriptures and through the Sacraments, and He is faithful to lead me into situations where He can use me and my gifts to accomplish His purposes.

If you have some thoughts on how the Eucharist fits into your understanding of intentional discipleship, please do share.