The Holy Scripture is abundant with motifs of God providing food for the journey, a pilgrimage of faith and obedience. In the Old Testament, God provides manna to Moses and the Jews in the wilderness. This heavenly food was intended to fortify them for the tasks God had set before them – to follow his Commandments, to journey faithfully towards the Promised Land, and to bear witness to God’s glory before all nations. The 23rd Psalm, which we read today, assures us that God will prepare a feast for us, a banquet we yearn to attend at the conclusion of our earthly sojourn.

So it is striking, even startling, that in the Gospel of Mark, we learn that Jesus and His disciples found no time to eat, even when they retreated to a secluded place to escape the throng. We are told “and they had no opportunity even to eat.” The passage ends with Jesus teaching the multitude in this remote location, and in the following week, we will hear the account of Jesus feeding the 5,000.

These allusions to nourishment make it evident that food signifies more than mere physical sustenance. The food that God provides is meant to nourish and fortify our souls.

The perfection of God’s gift of food is the Eucharist, the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Our capacity to receive Christ fruitfully lies not in our physical being but in our spirit, not in our stomach but in our soul. Our soul can only attain Christ through understanding and love, through faith and charity. Faith illuminates our recognition of Him, and charity kindles our love for Him. We spiritually feast on Christ by acknowledging Him through faith and receiving Him with the devotion of love.

The perfection of the Eucharist transcends our individual selves. When we refer to the Eucharist as Communion, we acknowledge the miracle of Christ’s body uniting us all into one community, one family. St. Paul beautifully teaches this when he writes: “In Christ Jesus you who once were far off have become near by the blood of Christ”. All those who faithfully partake in the body and blood become near, those who partook in the Eucharist in years or centuries past are no less a part of our community than those we share it with today; those physically close to us as well as those distant in miles, language, culture, or experiences, and those who hold different philosophies or political views.

One of the fundamental principles of Catholicism is the communion of believers. We are not solitary individuals, adrift in a vast sea of humanity. We are a community – a collective of individuals, sharing thoughts, hearts, and aspirations. We share the challenges of a life of faith in God, faith for the sake of those who are lost, faith in humanity’s return to God.

The celebration of the Eucharist is not a private devotion but a communal gathering akin to a family meal. We convene at the same time and in the same place to participate in a shared act.

Jesus was a Jewish peasant. He is the Son of God and the second person of the Trinity. On earth and in heaven, Jesus lived and lives in community. The great gift of the Eucharist, the gift of Jesus’ own flesh and blood, was first and forever celebrated in community and for community, through the community of the Trinity. There is no Communion without community. It is an essential element in the fabric of the mystery of the Eucharist. The Eucharist, celebrated as a community, teaches us about human dignity, calls us to right relationship with God, ourselves and others, invites us to community and solidarity, and sends us on a mission to help transform our communities, neighborhoods, and world.

How can we claim to be a community when so many live in poverty? How can we profess to be a community shaped by the Eucharist when our leaders and we ourselves cannot seem to dispel the stench of hatred, partisanship, and even violence on a political level? How can we assert to be a community when the most vulnerable among us are sacrificed for the convenience of others, when across the globe and even in our own country so many are discriminated against, denied the opportunities they deserve, or kept in poverty by the very society we form?

The Eucharist gives freely, demanding without compelling, reminding us of the true and unimaginably merciful goodness of God. But if we are to respond to Jesus’ call to His apostles, given so soon after the precious gift of the Eucharist, to stay awake and accompany Him on His journey to death, then the Eucharist must demand more.

The Eucharist demands constant change from us because it is no ordinary or earthly food. When we consume earthly food, we gain strength to do what we desire. But when we partake in heavenly food, the food that God provides and the food that we know about only because God chooses to reveal it to us, God strengthens us to do what He desires.

When, in a few moments, we receive the sacrificed body and blood of Christ, reflect gratefully on the sustenance the Eucharist provides to your body and soul. Reflect also on the demand and obligation the Eucharist places on you, the obligation to community, a community where there should be no poverty, hatred, or division. Open yourself to the strength of God.