One of the few sports I enjoy watching, regardless of whether the local team is playing or not, is hockey. For the past couple of months I’ve been catching many of the Stanley Cup playoff games. I justify this little indulgence because hockey provides some valuable life lessons and homily ideas (don’t instigate fights, try not to end up in the penalty box, avoid drawing blood from your opponent’s face, to name just a few easy ones) In fact, the parish staff is getting sick of my hockey analogies by now, but don't worry…this is probably my last one for a while.
One of the things I've come to appreciate about hockey is what happens when a player blocks a shot. The other team has a clear look at the net, after a clean pass, the player on offense winds up for a slapshot, and a defenseman throws himself in front of a puck traveling 90 or 100 miles an hour. He gets absolutely beaned by it. It hurts. Sometimes he limps off the ice. Maybe he leaves a couple teeth on the rink. Sometimes he's bruised for the rest of the series.
But what’s the result? The shot never makes it to the net. His teammates go nuts. They're banging their sticks on the boards. They're cheering. They're patting him on the helmet when he gets back to the bench.
Why?
Because their teammate put himself in harm's way for the good of the team. He sacrificed his body for something bigger than himself. He took one for the team. And whenever that happens, it deserves acknowledgment and praise.
It also challenges everybody else. Seeing a teammate sacrifice like that makes you want to play harder. It inspires you to bring the same grit, the same passion, the same willingness to give of yourself. To do less would almost feel disrespectful to the guy who just laid it all on the line for you.
In a much higher and holier way, that's what we celebrate today on the Feast of Corpus Christi. Jesus took one for Team Humanity when he laid down his life on the cross.
He didn't merely absorb a hard shot. He took upon himself the full weight of our sin. He held nothing back. He gave everything. He gave his Body. He gave his Blood. He gave his life so that we might be saved and have the possibility of eternal life. Every time we gather for Mass, we remember that sacrifice. More than that, we participate in it. We receive the very Body and Blood that were given for us.
I was reminded of this by a story I read a few years ago. At a Cardinal’s game celebrating transplant awareness, a man named John met the family of a young man whose donated heart had saved his life several years earlier. The meeting was understandably emotional, joyful, and tearful. And perhaps the most powerful moment came when the donor's family, one by one, leaned their heads against John's chest and listened to the heartbeat of their son and brother living within him. Every beat of that heart was a reminder of a sacrifice that had been made. Every beat was a gift. Every beat was evidence that someone else's generosity had become the source of new life.
In an even greater sense, something similar happens in the Eucharist. The human race suffered from a fatal condition called sin. Left to ourselves, we could not heal it. We could not save ourselves. So God sent prophets and teachers and leaders to help us. Then, in the fullness of time, He sent His Son. Jesus did not simply offer advice. He did not merely give us a better philosophy. He gave himself. And not just once on Calvary…He continues to give himself to us in every Eucharist. When we receive Holy Communion, we receive the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ. We receive the One who loved us enough to sacrifice everything.
That should fill us with immense gratitude. It should also fill us with reverence. As I mentioned earlier, hockey players understand instinctively that sacrifice deserves honor. Nobody sees a teammate block a shot and says, "Whatever." Nobody takes it for granted.
Yet sometimes we do exactly that with the Eucharist. The sacrifice of Jesus was infinitely greater than any sacrifice made on a hockey rink. And yet it can become familiar and routine; something we stop thinking about.
Today is a good opportunity to ask ourselves: Do I still recognize the gift? Do I still approach Holy Communion with awe? Do I prepare myself carefully to receive Our Lord? Do I believe that this is truly Jesus?
If we really understand what has been done for us, gratitude naturally follows. A gratitude that goes beyond words and extends into every aspect of our lives. The proper response to sacrifice is to honor it. The proper response to love is to love in return. The proper response to the Eucharist is to live a life worthy of the gift we have received.
That means worshipping God faithfully. It means avoiding sin. It means serving our neighbor. It means striving for holiness. Not because we're trying to earn God's love, but because we've already received it.
Today, as we come forward for Holy Communion, let's remember what we're receiving. Let's take the time to remember what it cost. Let's remember the One who took one for the team by blocking the Devil’s best shot, as he lay on down on the cross. Let's honor that sacrifice with grateful hearts, reverent worship, and holy lives.
O Sacrament Most Holy,
O Sacrament Divine,
all praise and all thanksgiving
be every moment Thine.
