I’m hoping that I don’t scandalize anyone, but I decided to begin to explore this topic by playing Devil’s Advocate, meaning that I want to put forth what I consider to be the most robust objection to the practice of Adoration, among those which were made in the turbulent liturgical debate that marked the post-Conciliar years (and whose repercussions are still felt today). Let me say that the choice of such an approach does not stem from a gratuitous taste for polemics, but rather from the fact that taking seriously and personally this objection is what has, over the years, allowed me to arrive at an increasingly more mature and balanced understanding, at least it seems to me, of the meaning of this devotional practice, which is quite dear, I am certain, to many of those present.
The objection was well formulated by Pope Ratzinger, many years ago by now, in the following way: “The Lord has given Himself in the bread and in the wine; but these things are to be eaten; thus, He has clearly indicated what He wants and what He does not want. Bread is not for contemplating, but for eating.”[1]
“Bread is not for contemplating, but for eating”, observed Pope Ratzinger
Before rushing to respond to this objection, let’s seek to grasp its force. Indeed, why are we given the Eucharist? “The aim of the Eucharist -it has always been clear- is our same transformation, such that we become one body and one Spirit with Christ” (cfr. 1 Cor 6:17). According to the Fathers of the Church, the Eucharistic body is given to us to make us co-corporeal with Christ, and, thus, completely one and united with Him and with one another, in the mutuality of fraternal charity. Now, if this is the end for which the Eucharist exists, then what’s the point of adoring it, which means sitting somewhere to look at it? It is the eating and drinking that counts here. Are not the very eucharistic species the ones to proclaim this loud and clear? In fact, the modality that the Lord chose to transfuse His Life into me was not that of a prolonged “face-to-face.” It is, instead, even more simple and humble: making Himself food and drink. And is this not, when all is said and done, the best way to communicate the ineffable vehemence of His love for us? Yes, it was not enough for God to come close to us to the point of becoming a man among other men -a man that you can look in the face, whose voice you can hear, whom you can embrace. This was not enough for Him. His desire to unite Himself to us was so strong that He was not able to settle for a “face-to-face,” which still retains a certain extraneousness between the lover and the beloved. No, in the unstoppable impetus of His love, He wanted to be able to be “eaten” and “drunk”, almost as if to completely satisfy His ineffable thirst to merge Himself with us.
To put even more fuel on the fire, we can add a second aspect, which is of a piece with the first: if the Eucharist is given to us not only to unite us to Christ, but also to infuse in us the power to communicate to others the love of Christ that we receive through it, then how does it make sense to sit there in a daze to look at the Eucharistic bread for hours, while, around us, outside of the walls of the Church, many men and women suffer from hunger and solitude? Is this not, in the end, a praxis that is somewhat contradictory?
“But the presence of the Lord in the Bread of life” -one can say- “is not transitory. After the consecration, the bread becomes irreversibly the body of the Lord. This is where devoted adoration comes from.” Fine, but this reply is, in my view, weaker than it seems. That the presence of Christ in the Eucharist be stable is something that no catholic would dream of denying; but stable does not mean static. The Presence of the Lord Jesus in the Eucharistic body is without a doubt real and irreversible, and yet, it is not completely identical to the Presence of the Lord in His glorious body. As precisely the appearing of the Lord under the form of bread and wine testifies with extreme clarity -it will surely be meaningful that the species remain unchanged (!)-, the eucharistic Presence of the Lord is a radically dynamic presence, meaning that it is ordered to mediate Christ’s giving Himself to me, His coming into me. Which means: the Lord assumes the appearance of the bread and wine not to dwell therein forever, but rather to be consumed by me and, in this way, to live in me (Gal 2:20) and give me Life. We’ve arrived thus at the most paradoxical and provoking version of our objection: does not Eucharistic adoration, especially when it is overemphasized, risk to obscure rather than to shed light on the greatness that it aims to exalt, which is, again, the Heavenly bread? The question is, at the very least, legitimate: why place myself at a distance, to look at the eucharistic Body of the Lord on my knees, when it is a sign of Love that seeks to overcome all distance?
To respond to this flurry of questions, which are not but variations of a single objection, I believe that the most promising way is that indicated by the same Pope Ratzinger[2]. We must, in other words, ask ourselves: taking as established that the purpose of the Eucharist is to establish between us and the Lord a relationship of communion, then what truly do we mean with the word communion? Only if we face the question from this point of view, can we arrive to understand the right place of adoration, which is not alongside communion, but, rather, within it. Let’s begin then.
The right place of adoration is not alongside communion, but, rather, within it
Above all, it seems important to me to recall the fact that communion between each one of us and the Lord of which the Eucharist is an efficacious sign finds its most perfect analogy in the spousal relationship. Actually, the analogy is so profound that St. John Paul II was moved to the point of calling the Eucharist the “the Sacrament of the Bridegroom and of the Bride.”[3] This is not the place to plunge deeply into the meaning of this analogy. For us, it is precious because it shows the path that, in my view, is most fruitful for reflection on the question we posed. In fact, it is precisely by looking at the musical structure of human love, and, in particular, of the love between a man and a woman, that it becomes possible to understand how between adoration and communion, between distance and intimacy, between seeing and tasting, there is not any real opposition, but rather a relationship of mutual interiority and integration.
Let’s take a look at this: if we read the Song of Songs attentively, the book of human eros par excellence, but also the book that the Church sees as celebrating the love between Her and the Lord, we can easily notice an interesting fact: there is perhaps no leitmotiv more insistent in the Song than that of the admiration that each of the lovers feels in contemplating the beauty of the other.[4]
Well, in my opinion, this tells us something much more profound and important than what it seems.
That is: what exalts the erotic impulse, transforming it into authentic love, which means into movement towards the union that, at the same time, contains within itself the opposing movement of reverence, of the generous letting be, is the wound of beauty, or rather, the perception of the inestimable dignity of the person in front of me, who is a mystery that attracts me while commanding respect.
We can thus begin to glimpse the crucial function that “seeing” plays already in the experience of human love, even before than in the relationship with Christ. In the same moment in which it elicits admiration, beauty -intended to mean the sensible splendor of the invisible mystery of the other person-, habilitates the man or woman to move themselves one towards the other in a truly human way, or rather with a heart penetrated by veneration, and for this reason that much more capable of enjoying the embrace of the beloved as a gift that inebriates and fills life.
One could, and must, therefore, say the following: already at the level of human love, it does not make sense to set “seeing” and “tasting” against one another, because the one is actually the condition of the fullness of the other. At this point, however, two things must be said for precision’s sake.
The first: saying that beauty is the visible splendor of the invisible mystery of the person means affirming that, as paradoxical as it may seem, the glory of a face is proportional to its power to attract me beyond itself, towards the invisible mystery of the person, which in those eyes that look at me, as if through a veil, one is able to glimpse. A verse from the Song of Songs says all of this splendidly: “Behold, you are beautiful, my love, behold, you are beautiful! Your eyes are doves behind your veil”.(Song 4:1)
The glory of a face is proportional to its power to attract me beyond itself, towards the invisible mystery of the person
If the beloved appears to her beloved so beautiful -the poet seems to say to us- it is precisely because he does not see her eyes except through a veil, almost as if it was the veil itself that partially hides her, to vest her in beauty, to increase her splendor. How can we explain this paradox? We said: in point of fact, a face fully manifests its splendor only to the one who is able to see the mystery of the person who resides behind and within “the veil” of the flesh.
We arrive then at the second point to clarify: it goes without saying that this navigation from appearance to depth, from the visible to the invisible (from the species to the substance!!) is not always easy. At times, we know well, the face of the other seems to lose “every appearance of splendor” -to say it with the Prophet Isaiah. This is why it is so necessary to cultivate what I love to call the ascesis of the gaze: nothing is more important, in conjugal love, than the exercise of that looking at the other at a distance, which is the condition for always returning to see her in her entirety, redeeming in this way the relationship from its otherwise inevitable decay. Hidden among the lines of an aging face, there is more beauty than that which immediately attracts the gaze. But to learn to grasp it, continuous work must be done. As Matisse wrote, “Seeing is already a work and, as such, requires effort.”
Now let’s return to the Eucharist.
If we look closely, in fact, what we have just said about the relationship of love between a man and a woman is also valid here, with the only difference being that everything becomes radicalized exponentially. Let us briefly look at how.
It is necessary to cultivate the ascesis of the gaze: nothing is more important, in conjugal love, than looking at the other at a distance
As the love between a man and woman finds its full consummation in the joining of bodies, so the end for which the Eucharist exists is the consummation (cfr. Jn 19:30) of the thirst of the Lord (cfr. Jn 19:28) to unite Himself to us, which happens when we eat His body and drink His blood. The resemblance is clear. The difference is that, in the Eucharist, there is not quite contact between bodies. The Lord makes Himself our food, our drink -which, if we look closely, allows Him to express the radicality of His dedication with a perfection even superior to what is allowed to a human body. It is true -as the Song of Songs says- that “love is sweeter than wine.” But it is also true that wine “gives itself” to the one who drinks with a radicality, which is not an option for the human body (except in case of cannibalism). I do not believe that it is random, in this respect, that the Greek verb that John uses to speak about Eucharistic eating is troghein, which ought not be translated as “eat,” as it usually is (we priests like to soften what sounds politically incorrect) but rather as “chew.” Jesus, in other words, actually does not say: “Whoever eats my flesh has life eternal,” but rather: “whoever chews my flesh has life eternal.” Which rather more strongly, or even more crudely we could say, evokes the fact that the love of which the Eucharist is a memorial, is the Love of that God who gave His life for me on a cross. As the bread of life must annihilate itself to be able to nurture me, so the Lord was annihilated, giving Himself away so that I might live.
We begin thus to glimpse the hidden glory of the apparent humility of this bread and wine. And really, could the Lord have found an icon more capable of allowing the radicality of His Love to shine through?
But here we begin to have some problems, because, if it is true that the glory of the Eucharistic bread is objectively rather greater than that of any human face, it is also true that it is also infinitely more hidden than that of a human face. [5]
This is the great paradox of the Eucharist: the Lord is here, this bread is His real body. And, yet, He dwells there hidden. He does not have eyes to look at me. He does not have a mouth to speak to me. He remains silent, discrete, “hidden behind His veil,” a bit like the Shulamite in the Song of Songs (cfr. Song 4:1).
Herein lies the meaning of Eucharistic adoration. One must stay, looking in silence at that simple piece of bread, to be able to pass beyond, with the eyes of faith, its appearance and arrive to behold the Almighty God who is hidden in that bread. If, by grace, one is able, then some unexpected happens: the bread itself, without losing any of its opaqueness, becomes filled with splendor, because in it, now, we no longer see a simple piece of bread, but rather, the infinite self-abasement of this God, who exactly in making Himself bread, precisely in “in-breading-Himself” (as Father Dante would say), states His thirst to give Himself to me, better even than He could have ever done with words.
This means that receiving Communion can become a true encounter of love
This means that receiving Communion can become a true encounter of love. This means that eating becomes tasting, with the palate of the heart, the love of the Lord, who recreates and fills with Life.
It is true: He is present in the sacrament regardless of what I feel or do not feel to be present. What’s more: we are speaking of a presence that, as Adoro Te devote says, cannot be seen with the eyes, but only is grasped through faith[6]. On the other hand, it is not less true that the Spirit of truth gives to the one who believes new eyes, contemplative eyes, which arrive in a certain sense to “see” that which the eyes of the flesh do not see. And is it not precisely this “seeing” with the eyes of the heart that generates love in it -that love on which depends, as theology teaches, the major or minor transformative power of the very act of receiving Communion? Thus we can understand the strong words of St. Augustine: “Let no one eat this flesh without first adoring it. We would sin, if we did not adore it.”[7] In conclusion: I hope to have clarified that adoring the Eucharist does not mean performing an action that misconstrues the true meaning of the Heavenly Bread. It means, instead, giving oneself the time and the space necessary to be able to appreciate the glory – to remain in wonder at this bread, which contains within itself the infinity of Heaven. “Taste and see how the Lord is good” (Ps 33:9), says the psalm. Which we could also translate: only the one who sees how good is the Lord can also taste His goodness.
[1] J. RATZINGER, God With Us, 91-92.
[2] “Communion and adoration are not realities that stand next to one another or, even, one in front of the other, but are inseparably one thing only. (…) Love and friendship bring with them always even a moment of fear, of adoration. Communicating with Christ requires, therefore, that one look at Him (…)” (J. RATZINGER, God With Us, 100-101).
[3] Cfr. JOHN PAUL II, Mulieris Dignitatem, 26.
[4] See, for example, Song 1:5.8.10.15-16; 2:1-2;2:13b.14b; 4:1.7 ss.; 5:10 ff.; 6:3.4. ss.; 6:12; 7:6. Even though it is more frequently the man who signs the beauty of the woman, one must note that the longest and most important elegy (Song 5:10ss), however, is dedicated to the praise of the beauty of the Beloved on the part of the Shulamite.
[5] As is well known, this is the main theme of the Eucharistic hymn, Adoro Te Devote, whose first two and final verses are worth adding here, to show the clear inclusion between Incipit and finale, so as to show the theme of “divine hiddenness” (an extremely rich term, which would merit its own development beyond what is possible at this point):
Adoro Te devote, latens Deitas / I adore You with devotion, Hidden Divinity
Quae sub his figuris vere latitas: / which under these appearances is truly hidden
Tibi se cor meum totum subiicit, / to You my whole heart abandons itself
Quia te contemplans totum deficit. / Because, contemplating You, everything else seems lesser.
Visus, tactus, gustus in te fallitur, / Sight, touch, taste, coming into contact with you, are deceived;
Sed auditu solo tuto creditur. / Only by hearing does one obtain the certainty of faith
Iesu, quem velatum nunc aspicio, / O Jesus, who now I see veiled
Oro fiat illud quod tam sitio; / I ask You to grant that for which I have a great thirst
Ut te revelata cernens facie, / That contemplating Your unveiled face
Visu sim beatus tuae gloriae. /I may be become blessed at the sight of Your glory
[6] “Visus, tactus, gustus in Te fallitur / Sed auditu solo tuto creditur…” (Sight, touch, taste, coming into contact with you, are deceived / Only by hearing does one obtain the certainty of faith)
[7] Enarrationes in Psalmos 98,9: CCL XXXIX, 1385.
