On this glorious Feast of Corpus Christi, the Church asks us to stand in awe before the greatest treasure she possesses: not a building, not a book, not a work of art, but a living Person—Jesus Christ Himself, truly present in the Blessed Sacrament, giving us His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. This feast is not only about what we believe; it is about whom we receive. It is about the astonishing humility of God, who does not merely speak to us, guide us, or forgive us from a distance, but feeds us with Himself.

In the first reading, Moses tells Israel not to forget the Lord who fed them with manna in the desert, “a food unknown” to their ancestors. The manna was a miracle, but it was also a promise. It was bread for a journey, bread for hungry pilgrims, bread to keep a weary people alive in the wilderness. But it was only a shadow of something far greater to come. In the Gospel, Jesus declares: “I am the living bread which has come down from heaven.” He does not simply give bread. He is the Bread. He does not merely point us toward life. He gives us life by giving us Himself.

And He does this in a way that is almost overwhelming in its intimacy. “My flesh is real food,” He says, “and my blood is real drink.” These are not symbolic words meant only to inspire warm feelings. St Paul confirms this in the second reading: “The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” At every Holy Mass, we are taken to Calvary, to the foot of the Cross next to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the beloved disciple and the holy women, to the sacred place and source of our salvation. The once-for-all sacrifice of Jesus is made sacramentally present. Heaven touches earth. The crucified and risen Lord gives Himself to His people.

That is why the saints loved the Eucharist with such intensity. St Thomas Aquinas, who gave us the great Eucharistic hymns, could write brilliantly about the Blessed Sacrament because first he knelt in adoration and awe before the Blessed Sacrament. St Francis of Assisi wept for love at the thought that the Lord of glory would place Himself into human hands. St Peter Julian Eymard spent his life drawing souls to Eucharistic adoration. St Thérèse of Lisieux found in Holy Communion the strength to live hidden holiness. St Carlo Acutis called the Eucharist “my motorway to heaven.”

And then there are those extraordinary priests and faithful in the darkness of prison camps and labour camps, who show us just how precious the Mass really is. At Dachau, where more than 2,700 clergy were imprisoned, many of them Catholic priests, the Eucharist became a lifeline of hope amid degradation and terror. In the Nazi concentration camps, priests risked punishment and death in order to minister secretly to other prisoners. St Maximilian Kolbe, even in Auschwitz, continued to serve as a priest, strengthening others by his faith and charity until he offered his life for another man. Blessed Titus Brandsma, the Carmelite martyr, carried into prison that same Eucharistic love which had sustained his whole priesthood.

And later, in communist imprisonment, Cardinal Francis-Xavier Nguyễn Văn Thuận found a way to celebrate Mass with tiny drops of wine and a little bread in the palm of his hand. His prison cell became, in a hidden way, a cathedral. The Eucharist was his strength, his consolation, his freedom in chains. When you hear such stories, you realise how easily we can take the Mass for granted. For some, one secret Communion was worth risking everything. For us, churches are open, tabernacles are near, Mass is available—and yet how casually we can approach so great a mystery.

Jesus remains among us now in that same humility. In the tabernacle He is not absent, not silent in indifference, not waiting impatiently. He is humbly, quietly, lovingly waiting for us, waiting to strengthen the weary, forgive the sinner, console the sorrowful, steady the anxious, and fill the empty heart. He waits to receive us, so that we may receive Him.

Today let us ask for the grace of Eucharistic amazement. Let us never become bored with the Mass. Let us never hurry past the tabernacle as if nothing—or no one—were there. Let us come to the altar with reverence, gratitude, and hunger. For here is the gift beyond all gifts: Jesus Christ Himself, our food for the journey, our sacrifice, our companion, our heaven already hidden on earth.

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The Office and Mass texts for this festival were, it is said, composed by St. Thomas Aquinas himself. The Sequence is an outstanding work, a glorious statement of the Church’s faith in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharistic celebration and in the consecrated gifts. Yes, it is a lengthy hymn and difficult to chant in English, but well worth the effort – as well as being excellent material for Lectio Divina.

One Parish I knew arranged for two good readers to speak it in alternate verses, while the Organ sustained the speaking with variations on the Chant melody, a creative way of doing this great text.

The Procession of the Blessed Sacrament after Mass is a sort of ‘acting out’ of the Sequence.

Preface of the Holy Eucharist 1 echoes St. Cyprian’s reflection on the Sacrifice of the Mass: …

He is the true and eternal priest, who instituted the pattern of an everlasting sacrifice, and was the first to offer himself as the saving Victim, commanding us to make this offering as his memorial.

(Cyprian’s text is his famous Letter 63, one of the earliest statements of the teaching that the Mass is the true Sacrifice)

For the General Intercessions

That Christ, the living bread,

may feed and sustain his Church in her earthly pilgrimage.

Prayers over the people no. 2 or 5 would be appropriate to conclude the General Intercessions.

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Hymns have been selected from the Laudate hymnbook:

At this great feast of love (318)

All that I am (600)

Lord, accept the gifts we offer (604)

Taste and see (617)

This is my body (627)