As a child, for some reason, some of the words of the consecration at Mass stuck with me ever since I was preparing for my First Communion. I didn’t understand much (or rather, nothing, haha) about what they referred to or what part of Jesus’ life they were based on. What I remembered most was:
“Take and eat, for this is my body. Take and drink, for this is my blood.”
Okay, I became more and more familiar with these words, perhaps because we had to kneel, and my mom was very good at inviting us into the proper postures.
As I grew older, I gradually connected the words in the consecration with the story of the Last Supper.
As for the image of the Last Supper, I was very familiar with the art that depicted it. My grandma had a painting of Leonardo da Vinci’s copy in the dining room. All my aunts and my mother also had an identical or different artistic version of the same scene.
Later, I realized that in my friends’ houses, there was also some representation of the same scene. Sometimes they were paintings, or I even saw large-scale images. Some were made of imitation ivory, with or without color. Seeing that scene in their dining rooms became familiar to me.
Oddly enough, it had never occurred to me to ask why it was normal. It was like having the question on the tip of my tongue, and almost knowing the answer. Until one time, I did ask my mom:
-Why does everyone have a last supper in their kitchens or dining rooms?
To which my mom replied:
-It’s a way of asking God to provide for our daily food, and at the same time, thanking Him for what He gives us.
-Oh, okay.
And I went on to continue playing.
At that time, I hadn’t yet begun to pay attention to the biblical story, which was about celebrating Passover and what would happen after the meal. I was still very busy imagining what the food depicted in the paintings would taste like.
A few years later, I heard that Jesus was the bread of life. The only thing I could grasp at that time was the phrase “Jesus is the bread of life,” but I wasn’t curious enough to ask what it meant. Until I did. But having that curiosity didn’t lead me to ask anyone anything.
This time, the question wasn’t on the tip of my tongue; rather, I was wondering, “How can Jesus be the bread of life?” So, I was also taking the question literally, and my curious child’s mind was searching for literal answers. Those literal answers found partial internal rest in catechism classes.
In complete transparency, I didn’t make my First Communion at age 7, as is customary in most Catholic education. For some reason, I was 12 years old when my mom put me in First Communion formation, so my curiosity was different from that of 6- and 7-year-olds.
It was during catechism that I was able to make the connection between the phrase “Jesus is the bread of life” and the Eucharist, and the phrase took on a meaning I couldn’t understand before.
-Wow.
I thought.
-I understand, but I don’t understand.
Hahaha.
That was enough for me at that moment, and it sustained me for years and years and years.
And many years later, during the pandemic, I had the opportunity to be in an online class where the topic of sharing was addressed in a way I hadn’t experienced before. Among other areas of focus, there was a moment called in Spanish “compartida.” (Sharing) That moment became a very sacred moment for all participants.
In other experiences, I had participated in moments of sharing, which were called shepherding, moments of reflection, circles of truth, or simply moments of deepening. It all depended on the context. In all these previous experiences, the dynamic was more or less the same. One person shares their experience, and everyone listens. The person in charge might make a minimal comment.
But in this class, something very different happened.
We were told something like this:
“What each person is going to share is their life, and it is sacred. Just as Jesus shared his life that nourishes, sharing our lives can also nourish us. Let us receive what others share with confidentiality, respect, and reverence.”
Wow!!!
Those words caught my attention so much, or rather, they hijacked it, that I remember having a hard time paying attention to what the first person shared.
And the question that arose in me was:
-Can our lives also be bread of life?
If I had previously enjoyed listening to people, now I found a way to savor and enjoy even more what I heard. That sharing was sharing the bread of life.
In the Gospel, at the Last Supper, Jesus says:
Do this in memory of me.
In addition to the Eucharistic celebrations we attend, how do you receive the bread of others’ life experience?
Do you receive the bread of life from the experience of others?
Do you give yourself the opportunity to share the bread of your life with someone?
Jesus has shared his life experience with you and me. Do you receive his experience?
Can you—or do you want to—share the bread of your life experience with Jesus?
If the Spirit leads you, share with Jesus the carpenter how you would like to be heard. And perhaps you will find yourself nourished by his response.
Marisol
P.S. We can hear about what Jesus shares at the Last Supper in the readings for Palm Sunday, Year/Cycle C.
