Corpus Christi.

Corpus Christi procession in Amsterdam, June 2007 (source).

While admitting at the outset that exactly when Corpus Christi should be celebrated is a point of contention - traditionally observed on the Thursday following Trinity Sunday, it is now typically transferred to the following Sunday - I would like to offer some words on this feast. In particular, I would like to invite your prayerful reflection on one of the most important liturgical texts of the day, the sequence Lauda Sion, which St. Thomas Aquinas composed for Corpus Christi shortly after Pope Urban IV prescribed the celebration of the feast throughout the Latin Church. Meant to be intoned immediately before the proclamation of the Gospel, this sequence has remained a part of the liturgy to this very day, though I suspect that relatively few contemporary Roman Catholics have the opportunity to hear it sung during Mass. With apologies for the great length, here is the text in the original Latin followed by a loose but poetic English translation:

Lauda Sion Salvatórem
Lauda ducem et pastórem
In hymnis et cánticis.

Quantum potes, tantum aude:
Quia major omni laude,
Nec laudáre súfficis.

Laudis thema speciális,
Panis vivus et vitális,
Hódie propónitur.

Quem in sacræ mensa cœnæ,
Turbæ fratrum duodénæ
Datum non ambígitur.

Sit laus plena, sit sonóra,
Sit jucúnda, sit decóra
Mentis jubilátio.

Dies enim solémnis ágitur,
In qua mensæ prima recólitur
Hujus institútio.

In hac mensa novi Regis,
Novum Pascha novæ legis,
Phase vetus términat.

Vetustátem nóvitas,
Umbram fugat véritas,
Noctem lux elíminat.

Quod in cœna Christus gessit,
Faciéndum hoc expréssit
In sui memóriam.

Docti sacris institútis,
Panem, vinum, in salútis
Consecrámus hóstiam.

Dogma datur Christiánis,
Quod in carnem transit panis,
Et vinum in sánguinem.

Quod non capis, quod non vides,
Animósa firmat fides,
Præter rerum ordinem.

Sub divérsis speciébus,
Signis tantum, et non rebus,
Latent res exímiæ.

Caro cibus, sanguis potus:
Manet tamen Christus totus,
Sub utráque spécie.

A suménte non concísus,
Non confráctus, non divísus:
Integer accípitur.

Sumit unus, sumunt mille:
Quantum isti, tantum ille:
Nec sumptus consúmitur.

Sumunt boni, sumunt mali:
Sorte tamen inæquáli,
Vitæ vel intéritus.

Mors est malis, vita bonis:
Vide paris sumptiónis
Quam sit dispar éxitus.

Fracto demum Sacraménto,
Ne vacílles, sed memento,
Tantum esse sub fragménto,
Quantum toto tégitur.

Nulla rei fit scissúra:
Signi tantum fit fractúra:
Qua nec status nec statúra
Signáti minúitur.

Ecce panis Angelórum,
Factus cibus viatórum:
Vere panis fíliórum,
Non mittendus cánibus.

In figúris præsignátur,
Cum Isaac immolátur:
Agnus paschæ deputátur
Datur manna pátribus.

Bone pastor, panis vere,
Jesu, nostri miserére:
Tu nos pasce, nos tuére:
Tu nos bona fac vidére
In terra vivéntium.

Tu, qui cuncta scis et vales:
Qui nos pascis hic mortales:
Tuos ibi commensáles,
Cohærédes et sodales,
Fac sanctórum cívium.
Amen. Allelúja.

---

Sion, lift thy voice and sing;
Praise thy Savior and thy King;
Praise with hymns thy Shepherd true.

Strive thy best to praise Him well,
Yet doth He all praise excel;
None can ever reach His due.

See today before us laid
The living and life-giving Bread,
Theme for praise and joy profound.

The same which at the sacred board
Was by our Incarnate Lord,
Giv'n to His apostles round.

Let the praise be loud and high;
Sweet and tranquil be the joy
Felt today in every breast;

On this festival divine,
Whih records the origin
Of the glorious Eucharist.

On this table of the King,
Our new paschal offering
Brings to end the olden rite.

Here, for empty shadows fled,
Is reality instead;
Here, instead of darkness, light.

His own act, at supper seated,
Christ ordained to be repeated
In His memory divine;

Wherefore now, with adoration
We the Host of our salvation
Consecrate from bread and wine.

Hear what holy Church maintaineth,
That the bread its substance changeth
Into flesh, the wine to blood.

Doth it pass thy comprehending?
Faith, the law of sight transcending,
Leaps to things not understood.

Here, beneath these signs are hidden
Priceless things, to sense forbidden;
Signs, not things, are all we see:

Flesh from bread, and blood from wine,
Yet it is Christ in either sign
All entire, confessed to be.

They too who of Him partake,
Sever not, or rend, nor break,
But entire their Lord receive.

Whether one or thousands eat,
All receive the selfsame meat,
Nor the less for others leave.

Both the wicked and the good
Eat of this celestial food;
But with ends how opposite!

Here 't is life, and there 't is death,
The same, yet issuing to each,
In a difference infinite.

Nor a single doubt retain,
When they break the host in twain,
But that in each part remain,
What was in the whole before.

Since the simple sign alone
Suffers change in state or form,
The signified remaining one
And the same for evermore.

Lo! upon the altar lies,
Hidden deep from human eyes,
Bread of angels from the skies,
Made the food of mortal man.

Children's meat, to dogs denied:
In old types foresignified:
In the manna heav'n-supplied,
Isaac, and the paschal Lamb.

Jesu! Shepherd of the sheep!
Thou Thy flock in safety keep.
Living Bread! Thy life supply;
Strengthen us, or else we die;
Fill us with celestial grace:

Thou who feedest us below!
Source of all we have or know!
Grant that with Thy saints above,
Sitting at the feast of love,
We may see Thee face to face.
Amen. Alleluia.

If you compare this English rendering of Lauda Sion with a more literal translation, you may see why I chose eloquence over strict accuracy in this instance. For me, verses like "Doth it pass thy comprehending? / Faith, the law of sight transcending, / Leaps to things not understood," have a more pleasing ring than "What you do not understand, / what you do not see, / a lively faith confirms / in a supernatural manner." Then again, a seasoned Latinist might reply that the elegant simplicity of the original text is hard to replicate in any translation. In the end, though, academic questions like these matter little when one considers the message of St. Thomas' text and of the feast for which it was written. In offering us his own body and blood under the appearance of bread and wine, Jesus Christ offers us the very food of salvation - a source of spiritual sustenance which, we hope, will enable us to become companions of the saints and finally "see Thee face to face."

Belief in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist has been a spiritual stumbling block for many. This should hardly surprise us, particularly given the reaction that Jesus receives in John's Gospel when he tells his listeners in the synagogue at Capernaum that his flesh and blood would be the food of everlasting life. "This is a hard saying," some of the disciples murmur, "who can accept it?" The meaning of the Christ's presence in the Eucharist has long been debated by church leaders and theologians, but it has also been a source of consternation for everyday Christians. I was reminded of this a few years ago when I taught religious education classes to middle-schoolers. The students in my class had all made their First Communion, so I took it for granted that they had already received some basic instruction about the Eucharist. Nevertheless, many expressed a kind of shock when I began to teach them about the Real Presence - for the most part, they weren't so much skeptical or disbelieving as they were unsure about what receiving the body and blood of Christ should mean for them in their own lives. In other words, they were unsure about how the change in the bread and wine offered at Mass was meant to change them as followers of Christ.

Thinking about these matters, I can't help but recall some deeply challenging words that I once heard from the liturgical theologian Father Robert Taft in a talk given last year at St. Vladimir's Orthodox Theological Seminary in New York. Here is a bit of what Father Taft had to say:

. . . the point of liturgy is that we are supposed to become what we celebrate. The purpose of the Eucharist isn’t to change bread and wine into Jesus Christ, it’s to change you and me into Jesus Christ – that’s what it’s all about. We are supposed to become the word of comfort and forgiveness, we are supposed to become the bread of life for the world, we are supposed to become the healing oil – and by 'we,' I don’t mean just the ordained, [but] all Christians. . . .

. . . What we do in church is simply the initiation into, and the feeding, and the restoration, if it’s lost by sin, and the intensification through preaching and the sacraments of what we’re supposed to be. If we don’t become it, we might as well stay in bed on Sunday morning, because what we’re doing is just a comedy.

We who believe that Christ is truly present in the Eucharist that we so regularly (and, perhaps, nonchalantly) receive would do well to reflect on Father Taft's words. As we receive Christ in the form of the "life-giving bread" that promises to "fill us with celestial grace," are we truly open to the transforming change that the Eucharist is intended to bring about in our lives? Are we really willing to "become what we celebrate"? If not, why not? In what ways do we resist being more fully open to the mystery commemorated by the Feast of Corpus Christi? How can we make the effects of our sharing in Christ's body and blood more visible in our day-to-day lives? AMDG.