Giving EUCHARIST

He was old, tired, and sweaty, pushing his homemade cart down the alley, stopping now and then to pick around in somebody's garbage.

I wanted to tell him about Eucharist, but the look in his eyes, the despair on his face, the hopelessness of somebody else's life in his cart, told me to forget it. So, I smiled, said "Hi!" - and gave him EUCHARIST.

She lived alone, her husband dead, her family all moved away,

And she talked at you, not with you,

words, endless words, spewed out.

So, I listened . . . and gave her EUCHARIST.

Then there is a young daughter, a young son, their faith is but an echo of ours. They don’t question; they have had no real crisis yet. Be real to them, Lord, not just today, but all of their tomorrows . . .

As we give them EUCHARIST.

I laughed at myself, and told myself,

“You with all your sins, all your selfishness, I forgive you, I accept you, I love you.” It’s nice, and so necessary too . . . to give yourself EUCHARIST.

When you are tired, weary, disgusted, lonely, go to your friends, open their door, say, “Look at me,”

. . . and receive their EUCHARIST.

My God, when will we learn not to just talk about EUCHARIST, philosophize about it, or dogmatize about it, but to do it?

When will we learn that sometimes we laugh it, sometimes we cry it and often we sign it. . . that sometimes it is wild peace, then crying hurt,

Often humiliating, never deserved.

Teach me to sense EUCHARIST in another’s eyes,

To give it in a hand held tight,

To squeeze it with an embrace.

To pause EUCHARIST in the middle of a busy day,

To live EUCHARIST with a million things to do and a person shows up wanting to talk.

To know EUCHARIST is as simple as being on time and as profound as the deepest sympathy.

Jesus, I can hear you saying:

I give you my supper,

I give you my sustenance,

I give you my life,

I give you me,

I give to you . . . EUCHARIST.

Go and do likewise.

~Author Unknown