This the truth each Christian learns, bread into his Flesh he turns, to his Precious Blood the wine/
Sight has fail’d, nor thought conceives, but a dauntless faith believes, resting on a pow’r divine. (Lauda Sion).
Have you ever had a moment when the enormity of Christ’s suffering, death, and ultimate gift of himself in the Eucharist becomes abundantly clear? When you can almost fully comprehend the love and longing our Lord must have for us, for our very souls? How does any mortal bear it? How can we return to indifference and lukewarmness after such a grace? Especially as a mother, how do I allow myself to become so blind to this ultimate sacrifice of the God who created me?
When the sacrament is broken, doubt not, but believe ’tis spoken, that each sever’d outward token doth the very whole contain (Lauda Sion).
I think we mothers can understand this broken God of ours very well. Christ was broken, and continues to be, in the daily offering of the Mass. Yet every part is whole. How often have I felt that brokenness? Our bodies, our hearts, our wills, all split open in love for our children. Our wants and desires become the burnt sacrifice. Our pride and ego, laid on the altar and given up with love.
A few months ago at Mass, I approached the altar to receive the Body of Christ given to me by our dear deacon, who knew of the horrible week I had just endured. He lovingly placed the host in my hand and looked at me with sorrow and kindness, much like our Lord, I would imagine. This God, who was broken and continues to be, knows how torn apart I am and offers his very self to make me whole. The very whole contain. Dissolving into tears, I blindly made my way back to my seat. How unworthy, yet how seen and loved I am in my brokenness. How much this broken God of ours holds me—makes me whole. I can be absolutely shattered, but also cherished by him who loves me with a fierceness that is incomprehensible.
Nought the precious gift divides, Breaking but the sign betides, Jesus still the same abides, still unbroken does remain (Lauda Sion).
Oh, how we have lived this, dear mothers. How we have become broken and yet still abide. How our bodies have been utterly spent as we pour ourselves out in life and love and nurturing, yet we still continue to give. How our Lord looks with love upon our offering and how he sustains us with his very Body and Blood!
Like our precious Savior, may we be still the same, and still abiding. May we remain, somewhat broken and yet undeniably whole, in this vocation of unconditional love and unending sacrifice. Still broken does remain. Oh, happy Solemnity!
