Fr Vincent Alfred Asuncion
In a quiet corner of the hills, far from the noise of cities and the distractions of daily life, thousands gathered around a man who spoke not just with words, but with compassion that fed the soul. These people came with emptiness, some of body, some of spirit, and they found in the presence of Jesus, more than they ever expected. They were met not with scarcity, but with abundance. Not with dismissal, but with welcome. This moment, where five loaves and two fish became a feast for thousands, we are invited to live it anew.
Corpus Christi is not merely a celebration of bread and wine. It is a proclamation that Christ has not left us hungry. He has chosen to remain with us, not as a memory or symbol alone, but as real presence. In every Eucharist, God places himself into our hands. Like those seated in the grass long ago, we too are fed by his presence and generosity. The bread we receive is not just nourishment for the journey; it is love made tangible, divine life and His body. The feeding of the five thousand teaches us something profound about God’s heart. He sees the need of the crowd, and his response is not to send them away, but to draw them in. The disciples saw limits, but Christ saw opportunity. They saw what they lacked; He saw what God could provide. So often in life, we come to God with our hands half-empty. We come bearing only small pieces of faith, broken hopes, leftover time, or wounded love. But God, in his infinite mercy, does not reject small offerings. He blesses them. He breaks them, and he multiplies them.
This is what we celebrate today: that the same Christ who fed thousands in a remote place now feeds the world from every altar and from every mass. That the gift of himself, His body and His blood, is offered again and again to anyone willing to receive Him. Not because we are worthy, but because He is generous. Because His compassion has no limit and His love has no end. But this gift is not for us to hoard. The Eucharist is never a private meal; it is a communal banquet. It sends us out to be broken and shared for others. When we receive Christ, we are called to become like Him, to be bread for the hungry, healing for the hurting, hope for the despairing. The miracle does not end when Mass concludes. It begins there.
The world still hungers: for meaning, for peace, for justice. We are surrounded by people who, like that crowd in the hills, long for someone to notice, someone to care. And we, fed by Christ, are now sent to feed others. Not always with food, but with presence. With kindness. With truth. With a love that echoes the very heart of God.
Jesus continues to give himself as food and drink to his followers. He also continues to put it up to his followers to take their stand with him, to take in all he stands for, living by his values, walking in his way, even if that means the cross. Whenever we come to Mass and receive the Eucharist, we are making a number of important statements. We are acknowledging Jesus as our bread of life, as the one who alone can satisfy our deepest hungers. We are also declaring that we will throw in our lot with him, as it were, that we will follow in his way and be faithful to him all our lives, in response to his faithfulness to us. In that sense, celebrating the Eucharist is not something we do lightly. Our familiarity with the Mass and the frequency with which we celebrate it can dull our senses to the full significance of what we are doing. Every time we gather for the Eucharist, we find ourselves once more in that upper room with the first disciples, and the last supper with all it signified is present again to us.
So today, as we lift our eyes to the mystery of the Eucharist, let us remember what it truly means: that God is still with us, still feeding us, still inviting us to bring our little so he can do something great. That in our brokenness, God finds the material for miracles.
Follow
