Jesus in the Eucharist: As Personal a Savior as Can Possibly Be

Two experiences in confluence generate this entry. Since 1983 I have been a revert to my Catholic Faith. I participate in the Sacraments with what some might say is a reasonable frequency, some might say an insufficient frequency, and others, former Catholics, otherwise affiliated, not affiliated with anything at all, or purely secularly affiliated might say was a lunatic frequency.

What I have come to is that for all my participation within the activities of my faith I have kept God at an emotional, psychological, and spiritual distance, while He has been as close as close can be. I knew His Closeness to be the case, intellectually, always. But there was a chasm between intellectual acceptance and real assent. In this last, let's call it, fourth quarter of my life, I have been seeking to leap that chasm. Or build a bridge across it.

So, let me get to the two experiences.

I have been a "fan" of a particular book for some twenty four years, called "The Strangest Way" by then Father Robert Barron of Mundelein Seminary in Illinois. It is a succinct explication of three key principles of the Catholic faith. First, Christ is the Center. Second, we are all sinners. Third, our lives are not about us. To demonstrate these principles, Fr. Barron invokes some profound literature by authors like Flannery O'Connor and Evelyn Waugh. After I read the book, I re-investigated the life and work of Ms. O'Connor--for I had found her stories hard to stomach--and now I consider her not only a great writer, and thinker, but a model as a modern Catholic woman. I have followed this engaging priest's career and work until he became a Bishop, not in Illinois, but here in California. All through the years, he had continued to write and more than that, pursued his Word on Fire project to evangelize the public square, including, but not limited to the unaffiliated, the disillusioned and the reflexive, but rather passionless Catholics in a faith where The Passion is the crux. Within the last year, Bishop Barron launched an Institute, to complement his already Fulton Sheen-esq reach to the faithful and the yearning to be faithful.

I joined the Institute in August, and it is energizing stuff, and in addition to the heady intellectual bent (I frankly think much over my head), it has heart, energy and, I suppose, in accord with now Bishop Barron's view that the expression of theological beauty is a door to reason and truth.

To the extent I can talk to others outside my parish environs, which frankly is rare as the mere mention of words like "Jesus" or "faith" brings looks of pity, if not revulsion, that the only thing that keeps me in the Catholic faith is the Eucharist-- that round host which when, with the words of consecration of the priest, becomes Jesus Christ Himself. By the way, I was watching a documentary on Luther, which was quite good, but was from the perspective of my Protestant brethren. There was a key misconception--that somehow the priest was causing the change from bread to Body of Christ. Not even slightly. It is God who through the priest standing in persona Christi (in the person of Christ) causes the substantial change, the change of essence, not form. Forgive the digression.

Here's the thing. Though I have said I stay because of the Eucharist, I don't think that the intellectual agreement has necessarily passed to conviction, that every day I receive Communion, I am consuming and being consumed by Jesus Christ, Man and God. I think, in a way, I am afraid of that thought. It makes my heart drop as I write it. How could I not see?

But then yesterday, I went to a funeral for a young woman, Tanisha Prince, who was the Director of Nurses at the nursing home where a good friend of mine resides. She died in a tragic jet ski accident. The funeral was held at the Baptist Church which Tanisha had attended, where, as her pastor said, she had accepted Jesus as her personal savior. I have been to services of other Christian denominations, but I don't think I ever attended a Baptist service. The small Church was filled with a quirky combination of attendees, of course, the family and friends of Tanisha, but also the colleagues, friends and acquaintances from her work place, which happens to be a facility run by Carmelite nuns, approximately 10-20 of whom came to the service. It was glorious; it was life-affirming. The first song by a young man was not on the program, and I was in tears. It expressed the paradox of pain in loss and a persistent gratefulness to God. The pastor's sermon was powerful, in large part, a rousing invitation for us gathered together to consider what would be said of us after our deaths.

There was applause. There were "Amens!" I found myself wishing that there was something of this energy in the responses to the Word of the Lord in a Catholic Church instead of the often stupefying stares and silence at the gift of participation bestowed on us by Vatican II.

Did I have a personal relationship with Jesus? I seem to recall that being asked of us?

And then I realized in its absence at this wonderful ceremony what I have and so readily take for granted.  There was no Eucharist. 

I went, for a moment, from mere intellectual comprehension (and that not as solid as it ought to be, but then again much is a Mystery which our feeble human words cannot reach) to that conviction which has heretofore eluded me.

Yes, I have the ultimate personal relationship with my Lord and Savior.  I can't get more personal than the Eucharist, Emmanuel, God With Us.

Manilow's Memory Tour

I've got it all it seems
For all it means to me
But I sing of things I miss
And things that used to be
And I wonder every night
If you might just miss me too
And I sing for you
I sing…


The lyrics above are from the end of the song, "This One's For You". At his Hollywood Bowl two night performance, Barry Manilow invoked his late grandfather in introducing this song, the man who seems to have been the most encouraging of the music career (though he wanted only to be a song writer) of his grandchild. 

I got all teary eyed at those last lyrics because they reminded me of all the time that has gone by since Barry Manilow first arrived on the scene, circa 1973, and that moment I was sitting in Section F Row 19 of the Hollywood Bowl on Saturday. I was ending Freshman Year College and about to be a sophomore. I had begun working at the student radio station WFUV in the Bronx, and so I was well aware of the myriad of pop and rock tunes. Frankly, back then I heard "Mandy" so much, I actually wasn't that crazy about it. But here I was 46 years later singing along with the multi-generational crowd that song and nearly all of the hits that had been among the threads of my life's tapestry when I was young and through the eventful years. When I first heard "Mandy" my mother was still alive, just before or just after her diagnosis with breast cancer, which would take her in November 1974 at age 48. I thought of her as I listened to Barry, the first of many losses to come, as life is wont to do, along with its revels. 

When I was 22 ish, and just out of college, I was reconsidering law school in favor of the entertainment world. I spent about six or more months working with a college friend (so kind was he to help me get the job; hello Facebook friend!) who was the Music Director of 99X, WXLO-FM.  One day I heard that Barry was in the studio with the now late Jay Thomas doing an interview. I surreptitiously peered at them through what I recall was a small window through the studio door. Well, who knows if that is right. I just remember a slight man, with a prominent proboscis, and a shag haircut. I know now he is 11 years older than me, but he looked so young, and fresh, and his career by then was already three or so years old. I had no idea yet of what mine would be, though as I have written in these pages before, I did conclude that radio at least was not something I would easily break into, and I returned to the route of law school, beginning in January 1977.  

As Barry's star rose along with his income, I found my way, and was mostly fortunate. Yeah, I used to have lots of complaints, but when you grow up, you get perspective. You learn that we all, even Barry Manilow, face the inexorable movement of time. The face lifts that Mr. Manilow has had, often the subject of jest, is one manifestation of his response.  But none of us, of a certain age, with or without facelifts, are unmarked. 

Maybe that's part of what made the evening, for me, so lovely. In that 17,000 person venue, things felt really intimate in a way, like we were sharing an impromptu performance--despite the glitzy Las Vegas style staging--at home. The man behind us, clearly of our generation, was nearly apoplectic with joy. He must have yelled "Bar-RY" a million times. But next to me were a couple of twenty somethings.  I wanted to say, but held my tongue, that I was glad to see their appreciation of a relic of my past. 

And when I heard those lyrics in "This One's For You" I thought of the people that I miss, between 1973 and now, too many really, it hurts sometimes more than I can say. 

I felt like Barry was singing for all of them.