The Lamb's Supper

by Scott Hahn

  Here's the good news. Christ became one of us, to offer His humanity as the perfect sacrifice. In the Mass, we join our sacrifice with His, and that union makes our sacrifice perfect.

  FEELING NO PAIN

  The Mass is the “once for all,” perfect sacrifice of Calvary, which is presented on heaven's altar for all eternity. It is not a “repeat performance.” There is only one sacrifice; it is perpetual and eternal, and so it needs never be repeated. Yet the Mass is our participation in that one sacrifice and in the eternal life of the Trinity in heaven, where the Lamb stands eternally “as if slain.”

  How can this be? How can God offer sacrifice? To whom could God offer sacrifice?

  In the Godhead, in heaven, this life-giving love goes on painlessly but eternally. The Father pours out the fullness of Himself; He holds nothing of His divinity back. He eternally fathers the Son. The Father is, above all else, a life-giving lover, and the Son is His perfect image. So what else is the Son but a life-giving lover? And He dynamically images the Father from all eternity, pouring out the life He's received from the Father; He gives that life back to the Father as a perfect expression of thanks and love. That life and love the Son received from the Father and returns to the Fatheris the Holy Spirit.

  Why bring this up now? Because this is what happens in the Mass! The early Christians were so astonished by this fact that they were prone to sing about it, as in this sixth-century Syrian hymn: “Exalted are the mysteries of this temple in which the heaven and earth symbolize the most exalted Trinity and our Savior's dispensation.” The Mass makes present, in time, what the Son has been doing from all eternity: loving the Father as the Father loves the Son, giving back the gift He received from the Father.

  A MASSIVE CHANGE

  That gift is the life we're meant to share; but before we can, we must undergo a significant change. As we are now, we're incapable of giving so much or receiving so much; the infinite fire of divine love would consume us. Yet, we cannot change on our own. That's why God gives us His own life in the sacraments. Grace makes up for the weakness of human nature. With His help, we're able to do what we couldn't do by ourselves: namely, love perfectly and sacrifice totally.

  What God the Son has been doing from all eternity, He begins doing now in humanity. He doesn't change at all; for God Himself is unchanging, eternal, without beginning or end. What changes is not God but humanity. God assumed our humanity, so that every gesture, every thought He had—from the moment He was conceived till the moment He died on the cross—everything He did on earth would be an action of the Son loving the Father. What He is from all eternity, He manifested in His humanity. Thus, perfect love now takes place in time, because God has assumed our human nature, and He has used it to express the life-giving love of the Son for the Father. Through His life and death, Jesus deified humanity. He united it to the divine.

  And every time we receive the Eucharist, we receive this glorified, divinized, empowered humanity of Jesus Christ, the perfect manifestation of the divine Son's love for the Father. Only with this massive infusion of grace can we undergo the change required before we enter the life of the Trinity.

  The Eucharist changes us. Now, we're able to do all the same things we'd done before—but making them divine in Christ: making our every gesture, thought, and feeling an expression of love for the Father, an action of the Son within us.

  TRIBAL TROUBLES?

  Marrying into any family means big changes. Marrying into the family of God means complete transformation.

  What difference does it make? All the difference in the world, and then some. With this change—in the words of a fourth-century Syrian Father, Aphrahat—man becomes God's temple, as God is man's temple. We worship, as Revelation says, “in the Spirit.” We dwell in the Trinity. Now, too, we live in God's house, the Church, which is built upon rock (see Mt 7:24–27; 16:17–19). Now, we are called by His name (see Eph 4:3–6). Now, we partake of the table of the Lord (see 1 Cor 10:21). Now, we share in His flesh and blood (see Jn 6:53–56). Now, His mother is our mother (see Jn 19:26–27).

  Now, we can understand why we call priests “Father” and the pope our “Holy Father”—because they are other Christs, and Christ is the perfect image of the Father. Now, we can understand why we call women religious “Sister” and “Mother”—because they are images for us of the Virgin Mary, and of Mother Church.

  Now, more clearly than ever, we can understand why the saints in heaven care so much for our welfare. We're their family! We must never forget the Christians who have gone before us. In our prayer and our study, we must come to know their company and their help. Through the saints' example, we must learn to care as deeply for those who stand beside us during Mass each week. Because they're our family in Christ—and our common sainthood begins now.

  Think about it: if we all persevere together, you and I will share a home forever with Christ—with the parishioners we worship beside today.

  Does that make you feel uncomfortable? Maybe you suddenly remembered the parishioners who most get on your nerves. (I know I did.) Could heaven really be heaven if all of our neighbors are there? Could heaven be paradise if Father So-and-So makes it, too?

  That's the only sort of heaven we should think about. Remember, we're a family of the ancient sort: a clan, a tribe. We're all in this together. That doesn't mean we'll always feel affection for the people we see at Mass. It does mean we must love them, bear with their weaknesses, and serve them—because they, too, have been identified with Christ. We cannot love Him without loving them. Loving difficult people will refine us. Perhaps only in heaven will our love be so perfected that we can actually like these people, too. St. Augustine spoke of a man who, on earth, had chronic gas problems; in heaven, his flatulence became perfect music.

  BRING IT ON HOME

  The communion of saints is not merely a doctrine. It is a lived reality perceived only when we live steadfast lives of faith. But it is more real than the ground we walk on. It's a permanent reality, even if its permanence is not manifested continuously in our parish.

  We need, right now, to open our eyes of faith. Heaven is here. We've seen it unveiled. The communion of saints is all around us, with the angels, on Mount Zion, whenever we go to Mass.

  FOUR

  Rite Makes Might

  THE DIFFERENCE MASS MAKES

  TO GO TO MASS is to go to heaven, where “God Himself . . . will wipe away every tear” (Rev 21:3–4). Yet heaven is even more than that. Heaven is where we place ourselves under judgment, where we see ourselves in the clear morning light of eternal day, and where the just Judge reads our works from the book of life. Our deeds go with us when we go to heaven. Our deeds go with us when we go to Mass.

  To go to Mass is to renew our covenant with God, as at a marriage feast—for the Mass is the marriage supper of the Lamb. As in a marriage, we take vows, we pledge ourselves, we assume a new identity. We are changed forever.

  To go to Mass is to receive the fullness of grace, the very life of the Trinity. No power in heaven or on earth can give us more than we receive in the Mass, for we receive God into ourselves.

  We must never underestimate these realities. In the Mass, God has given us His very life. This is not just a metaphor, or a symbol, or a foretaste. We must go to Mass with eyes and ears, mind and heart open to the truth that is before us, the truth that rises like incense. God's life is a gift we must receive properly and with gratitude. He gives us grace as He has given us fire and light. Fire and light, misused, can burn us or blind us. In a similar way, grace received unworthily subjects us to judgment, and to much more dire consequences.

  In every Mass, God renews His covenant with each of us, setting before us life and death, blessing and curse. We must choose the blessing for our own, and reject the curse, and we must do this from the very start.

  MAKING A SPLASH

  From the moment you walk into church, you pla
ce yourself under oath. By dipping your fingers into holy water, you renew the covenant begun with your baptism. Perhaps you were baptized as an infant; your parents made the decision for you. But now, with this simple motion, you make the decision for yourself. You touch the water to your forehead, your heart, your shoulders, and you sign yourself by “the name” in which you were baptized. Wrapped up in this motion is your acceptance of the creed, which your parents accepted in your name at your baptism. Wrapped up in this motion is your rejection of Satan, and all his pomps, and all his works.

  Doing this, you testify, you make testimony, as you would in court. In court, a witness puts himself, his reputation, and his future on the line. If he fails to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, he knows he will face severe consequences.

  You, too, are under oath. Don't forget: the Latin word sacramentum literally means “oath.” When you make the Sign of the Cross, you renew the sacrament of baptism, thus renewing your obligation to live up to the rights and duties of the New Covenant. You will love God with all your heart, and mind, and soul, and strength; you will love your neighbor as yourself.

  You have especially vowed to tell the truth during this Mass. For this is the court of heaven; here, God will open the book of life; here, you will take the witness stand. Many, many times during the Mass, you will say “Amen,” the Aramaic word that conveys assent and agreement: Yes! So be it! Truly! “Amen” is more than a response; it is a personal commitment. When you say “Amen,” you commit your life, so you'd better mean it.

  Thus, in the Mass, you are not merely a spectator. You are a participant. Yours is the covenant that you will renew.Yours is the covenant that Jesus Himself will renew, here and now.

  OATH MEAL

  Whenever God made a covenant, He also gave a program for its renewal. A covenant wasn't just a past event; it was ongoing, perpetually present, continually reactualized. Generations might pass since the covenant at Sinai; but whenever the children of Israel renewed that covenant, whenever they marked the Passover, it was as if the covenant were being made today.

  The Mass is our perpetual renewal of the New Covenant. The Mass is a solemn oath you take before countless witnesses, as in the court of the Book of Revelation. “And so with all the choirs of angels we sing . . .” When heaven touches down upon earth, you receive the privilege of praying beside the angels. But you also receive the duty of living up to your prayers. Those same angels will hold you accountable for every word you pray.

  And not only for what we pray, but for what we hear. Because it is God's Word that we hear proclaimed, and not the promises of some politician whom we can vote “for” or “against.” We hear the Word of God, and not some news report whose reliability we may choose to doubt. In earthly courts, witnesses merely swear on the Bible; at Mass, we swear to the Bible. We hear God's Word; we will be held to it.

  “I believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.” Do we live by the teachings of that Church without stint and without exception? Studies indicate that more than 90 percent of Catholics in the United States, for example, reject the Church's teaching on artificial birth control. Yet we can assume that these same Catholics place themselves under oath each Sunday and recite the creed. What are the consequences of such enormous false witness?

  “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” We, who beg God's mercy, place this condition upon His mercy: that we will first forgive those who have wronged us. Yet nearly all of us carry some grudges with us, even beyond the doorway of the church.

  “Peace be with you. And also with you.” We symbolically extend peace to every neighbor. Yet how many hours will pass between the end of the Mass and the first outburst of our temper?

  “The Body of Christ. Amen.” With what attention do we receive the Bread of Life, the Christ of faith and history? If we greeted an earthly king with the same attention, how would we be judged?

  To hear the Word of God. To receive the Bread of Life. These are profound mysteries; they are incredible gifts; yet they are also mighty commitments. In the Mass, we receive divine life, divine power, more mighty than the greatest forces on the earth. Think about electricity, which can light your home or stop your heart. Think about fire, which can warm your family or consume a city block. These are but dim shadows of the supernatural power of God, Who created fire and formed the earth out of nothing. If we teach our children to treat electricity and fire with respect, how much more respectfully should we ourselves treat the very mysteries of heaven, which fill us in Holy Communion?

  TRUTH—OR CONSEQUENCES

  We cannot explain away the judgment we bring upon ourselves when we fail to live up to our witness. Hear the testimony of St. Paul: “Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord” (1 Cor 11:27). Guilty of blasphemy! This is no small matter. To ensure a pure sacrifice, the early Christians confessed their sins—in public! Today, the sacrament of confession is private, and not as burdensome. Do we make the most of it?

  “This is why many of you are weak and ill, and some have died” (1 Cor 11:29). We dare not dismiss this as outdated or superstitious. Paul meant what he said, and the Church, even today, preserves this idea in its liturgy. Bad Communions bring judgment upon our heads. The priest, before receiving Communion, says: “Let it not bring me condemnation, but health in mind and body.”

  To receive Communion, then, is to receive heaven—or to bring the most severe punishment upon oneself. In some times and places, the weight of this judgment kept Christians away from Communion for years at a time. Yet this is not Paul's solution. Rather than stay away, he recommends repentance. “Let a man examine himself, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup” (1 Cor 11:28).

  This is an exam that no one passes. We are all sinners. No one is worthy to approach almighty God—never mind enter into Communion with Him. Even St. John, the Beloved Disciple and a model of purity and virtue, fell down in awe when he saw His best friend, Jesus Christ, in glory. How do we respond, interiorly, when the priest holds up the Host and says, “This is the Lamb of God . . .”?

  No doubt about it: We must fight the spiritual battles that will win us recollection, attention, and contrition during the Mass.

  TRUE LOVE ALWAYS

  We want the blessing of the covenant, and not the curse. The more we are prepared for Mass, the more grace we will take away from the Mass. And remember: the grace available in the Mass is infinite—it's all the grace of heaven. The only limit is our capacity to receive it.

  This blessing is pure power, though not as the world understands power. Grace means freedom, though not as the world understands freedom. Union with Christ made Simon Peter stronger than the Roman emperor Nero, even though Nero authorized Peter's death. Peter received heaven; Nero ruled the world, but was consumed by his perversions, which grew ever more depraved, driving him to suicide in the year A.D. 68.

  Grace makes up for every weakness of our human nature. With God's help, we're able to do what we could never do on our own: namely, love perfectly, sacrifice completely, lay down our lives as Christ did. We will cling to nothing of the earth, preferring instead to rise to heaven.

  The martyrs of the Apocalypse are the ones who speak from the altar. They are sacraments of the Eucharistic sacrifice of Christ. In their lives, they manifested the true nature of love: sacrificial self-offering.

  We can live this martyrdom wherever we are. We need not travel to oppressive, anti-Christian countries to be martyrs. We need only do all the same things we've always done—but now making every one of those gestures, actions, thoughts, and feelings an expression of love for the Father, an imitation of the Son within us. That's what it means to live the Mass.

  WORKING WONDERS

  That's what it means to be a missionary and a martyr, restoring all things in Christ. It means
cooking dinner unto Christ, and through Him to the Father, and for His children, who are yours. It means going to work and doing a job with friendship for your coworkers, and not merely to get a better wage next year, or get a promotion, but to earn an eternal inheritance.

  Remember again the words of Vatican II: “[T]heir work, prayers and apostolic endeavors, their ordinary married and family life, their daily labor, their mental and physical relaxation . . . all of these become spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. During the celebration of the Eucharist these sacrifices are most lovingly offered to the Father along with the Lord's body.”

  Our whole life gets caught up in the Mass and becomes our participation in the Mass. As heaven descends to earth, we lift up our earth to meet it halfway. That's the splendor of the ordinary: the workaday world becomes our Mass. That's how we bring about the Kingdom of God. When we begin to see that heaven awaits us in the Mass, we begin already to bring our home to heaven. And we begin already to bring heaven home with us.

  We become martyrs, witnesses to Jesus Christ, WhoseParousia, Whose Presence, we know most intimately.

  SUPPER'S READY

  We were made as creatures on earth, but we were made for heaven, and nothing less. We were made in time like Adam and Eve, yet not to remain in an earthly paradise, but to be taken up into the eternal life of God Himself.

  Now, heaven has been unveiled for us with the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Now is the Communion God has created us for. Now, heaven touches earth and awaits you. Jesus Christ Himself says to you: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with Me” (Rev 3:20).

  The door opens now on the marriage supper of the Lamb.