body, heart, mind, and whatever we mean by “soul.” Love affairs never happen
just in the mind.
Only presence can know presence. And our real presence can know Real
Presence.
When Jesus spoke the words “This is my Body,” I believe he was speaking not
just about the bread right in front of him, but about the whole universe, about
every thing that is physical, material, and yet also spirit-filled. (Thus the name
of this book.) His assertion and our repetition resound over all creation before
they also settle into one piece of bread. And you know what? The bread and
wine, and all of creation, seem to believe who and what they are much more
readily than humans do. They know they are the Body of Christ, even if the rest
of us resist such a thought. When we speak these sacred words at the altar, we
are speaking them to both the bread—and the congregation—so we can carry it
“to all creation” (Mark 16:16). As St. Augustine said, we must feed the body of
Christ to the people of God until they know that they are what they eat! And
they are what they drink!
Honestly, and without any stretch, my dog Venus taught me more about “real
presence” over a fifteen-year period than any theological manual ever did.
Venus taught me how to be present to people and let them be present to me
through the way she always sought out and fully enjoyed my company for its
own sake. She was always so eager to be with me, even if I interrupted her in
the middle of the night to go with me on a sick call. She literally modeled for
me how to be present to God and how God must be present to me: “Like the
eyes of a handmaid fixed on the hand of her mistress” (Psalm 123:2), Venus’s
eyes were always fixed on me. If only I could always have been as loyal, eager,
and subservient to her. But she taught me how.
Presence is always reciprocal, or it is not presence at all.