Master, To Whom Shall We Go?

In the book of Leviticus, the Hebrews were forbidden from drinking blood. Blood was not treated as ordinary. Blood represented life, and life belongs to God. So when Christ tells His followers, “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you,” they were understandably disturbed.

This was not a mild teaching. It was not vague religious poetry. It was shocking. It was offensive. To Jewish ears, it sounded not only strange, but repugnant.

And yet Christ does not soften His message. He does not chase the crowd down and say, “Wait, you misunderstood Me.” He does not explain it away as a metaphor. Rather, He doubles down.

Whoever eats His flesh and drinks His blood has eternal life. Whoever gnaws on His flesh and drinks His blood remains in Him, and He remains in that person. The language becomes more intense, not less. Christ presses the scandal instead of retreating from it.

And many of His followers abandoned Him over it.

When Jesus asks the Apostles if they will leave also, Peter’s answer is not the answer of someone who has already worked everything out. He does not say, “Lord, now I understand exactly how this can be.” He says, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

That matters.

Peter does not yet understand the Eucharist. He does not yet understand the Cross. He does not yet understand the way Christ will give His flesh for the life of the world. But he knows who Jesus is. He knows enough to remain.

And it is often like that for us also.

Sometimes we do not understand what we are being asked to do or why. Sometimes the teachings of Christ and His Church seem difficult, strange, or even impossible. We wonder if the Church has gone mad. We wonder if she needs to get with the times. We wonder if this teaching is simply too hard for modern people.

But the question remains: to whom shall we go?

If Christ has the words of everlasting life, then we do not follow Him only when His words are easy. We do not follow Him only when His teachings already fit comfortably within the assumptions of our age. We follow because He is the One who knows the way. We follow because He has walked it before us. We follow because He Himself is the Way.

The crowd complained that Moses had given their fathers bread in the desert, referring to the manna. Yet Jesus corrects them. It was not Moses who gave them bread from heaven. Nor was it Moses who brought forth water from the rock. Moses was the servant. God was the giver.

God fed His people in the wilderness because they could not sustain themselves. He gave them bread from heaven because they were hungry. He brought water from the rock because they were thirsty. Again and again, Israel grumbled. Again and again, Israel doubted. Again and again, God provided.

God knows what His people need.

And now He gives something greater than manna.

The manna kept Israel alive for a time, but those who ate it still died. The Eucharist gives a deeper life, because in the Eucharist Christ gives us Himself. God gives us many good things: daily bread, family, work, creation, friendship, beauty, and rest. But what we need most of all is not merely something from God. What we need most of all is God Himself.

And in the Eucharist, Christ offers Himself to us in the most intimate way imaginable: He allows us to consume His flesh and blood.

Let that sink in for a moment.

At every Mass, ordinary bread and wine do not remain ordinary. They become for us the true Body and Blood of Christ. Not a reminder only. Not a symbol only. Not a religious prop meant to stir up our thoughts. Christ gives what He says He gives.

As Saint Paul tells us, the cup of blessing that we bless is a participation in the Blood of Christ, and the bread that we break is a participation in the Body of Christ. We do not merely think about Christ’s Body and Blood. We partake of them.

And because we partake of His Body, we are drawn into His Body.

Although we are many, we are one. We belong to His Body because we receive His Body. Just as the bread and wine are not what they appear to be, we are not merely what we appear to be. We may appear divided, scattered, ordinary, and weak. We may appear to be separate individuals gathered in the same room for the same ritual. But in Christ, we are made one body.

The Eucharist is not a private devotion. It is not merely Jesus and me. It is Christ giving Himself to His Bride, the Church, and drawing His people into communion with Himself and with one another.

The Body and Blood of Christ are made present in a miraculous way, but not simply for the sake of a miracle. God does not perform tricks. The Eucharist is miraculous because it makes present the one sacrifice of Christ. It is the sacramental sign of His offering to the Father, the offering by which we are redeemed.

But this sign is not reducible to a mere symbol. It is efficacious. It gives what it signifies. It unites us to Christ’s sacrifice. It nourishes our souls. It fills us with His grace. It joins us more deeply to Him and to one another.

This is why the Eucharist is not something added onto Christian life. It is not a bonus for the especially devout. It is the source and summit of the Christian life, because it is Christ Himself: Christ offered, Christ received, Christ nourishing His people in the wilderness of this world.

The Bread of Angels is given to us, poor and humble as we are.

We do not deserve it. We grumble and complain just like the Hebrews in the desert. We grow tired. We doubt. We chase after lesser food. We want God’s gifts, but we resist God Himself.

And yet God does not abandon His people.

He fed Israel with manna in the wilderness. He brought water from the rock. He remained faithful even when they were not.

And now He feeds us with an even more precious gift.

Not merely bread from heaven, but the living Bread come down from heaven.

Not merely a sign of life, but Life Himself.

Not merely a gift from God, but God given to us.

Christ gives us His flesh for the life of the world.

And still He asks, as He asked the Twelve: “Do you also want to leave?”

Peter’s answer must become our own.

“Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”