Solemnity of St. Pius X
There’s a Trooper I know who used to work in Flint, but now works for our Aviation Unit, flying helicopters. He and I both enjoy drinking bourbon (a quality pastime if ever there was one), as well as watching movies. Obviously the latter has become impossible in theaters during the pandemic. But, over the past couple of months, we’ve gotten together to watch movies in each other’s homes, either on Netflix or on DVDs that I own. His wife is not a big mafia movie fan, so when she’s been gone, I’ve introduced him to “The Godfather” trilogy (we’ve finished one and two so far).
In the second movie (spoiler alert!), there’s a scene where Michael Corleone and his brother Fredo are in pre-Castro Cuba celebrating the New Year in the presidential palace. Michael has learned that his brother, Fredo, has betrayed Michael and his family to competing interests, and in one of the famous movie lines of all time, Michael says, “I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart.” Hold that thought.
Perhaps we have heard the encouragement to be Eucharistic people. And that certainly is a good thing, especially as we celebrate the Pope of the Blessed Sacrament. Maybe we think that means that we need to go to Mass (and confession) frequently, or spend more time in adoration. Both of those things are good, and are ways to be Eucharistic Catholics. But sometimes being Eucharistic Catholics is a bit more messy than simply going to Mass.
It’s like First Communions themselves. On the holy cards we’re used to seeing cute little girls in a white dress with a veil, kneeling down, about to receive the Sacred Host, or a little boy, all gussied up in a suit and tie, with an angelic look on his face. Any parent knows that, while that one moment may happen, it was preceded by the young girl not wanting her hair done the way you want it done, or trying to brush out the tangles five minutes after you were supposed to leave for church; or by that young boy, dressed up and ready to go, who found a cool-looking frog or snake and just had to pick it up, never worrying that the animal may release a liquid surprise on the hands, or even the suit, of the boy. The reality is often messier than the image we try to create in our minds.
The same goes for being Eucharistic Catholics. Again, going to Mass (and confession) frequently is a great thing. Spending time with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, especially during Eucharistic Adoration, is a marvelous way to grow in our love and appreciation of the Eucharist. But another part of being a Eucharistic Catholic is having happen to us what happened to Jesus, and to Michael Corleone: our hearts are broken.
The Eucharist comes from grains of wheat that have been crushed into flour. And so, we are invited to have the same happen to us: to be crushed to make of ourselves an offering to God. The flour is added to water, and is baked to make the unleavened hosts that we use for the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ. So for us, when our sufferings are added to the water of baptism, and baked in the fire of the Holy Spirit, they become an offering that we can give to God, which He receives, and transforms by His power, into something that gives us life.
Being Eucharistic Catholics doesn’t mean we betray our family to its enemies, and celebrate in Cuba. But it does mean that our hearts are going to be broken, just as the Sacred Heart of Jesus was. We don’t have to go looking for that suffering; it will find us easily enough. But when it comes, we have the choice to accept it as merely people of the world, and try to ignore it, fight our way out of it, or pass it along to another. Or we can be Eucharistic Catholics and accept necessary sufferings, unite them to Jesus on the cross in His perfect offering to the Father, and receive God’s life-giving grace from that sacrifice. Suffering is not the only part of being a Eucharistic Catholic, but during this continued pandemic, we can find ways to unite our sufferings with Jesus and grow in new ways in our faith life.
Being crushed was the path that Jesus took when He suffered and died. That was the way of the Master; that is the way of his disciples. In the first “Godfather” movie, (again: spoiler alert!) Vito brings the dead body of his son, Santino, aka Sonny, and says to the undertaker: “Look how they massacred my boy.” God the Father could have said the same thing about Jesus. And yet, Jesus willingly offered Himself to the Father, in all the pain and the suffering of the crucifixion, so that we could be reconciled to the Father. Jesus’ love for His Father and for us, His Bride, meant suffering. Our love for Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, as well as for each other, will also mean suffering in our lives, suffering that can be salvific. Just as the wheat is ground so that it can become bread which gives eternal life, so our suffering can become an acceptable sacrifice which, when united to Jesus, brings salvation to us or to people we love.
A broken heart is part of being a Eucharistic Catholic: a heart broken for the Lord and His people. Jesus asks us today if we love Him enough to be broken and offered to the Father. He asks us as He asked St. Peter and St. Pius X: “‘Do you love me?’”
