This is part of a read-along hosted by myself and MrsDarwin of DarwinCatholic.
The main page is here.
MrsDarwin's biographical sketch of the author, Robert Hugh Benson, is here.
My introductory post is here.
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Cat ended her last post about Chapter 4, the Illuminative Way with a brief meditation on the humility required even of the "illuminated":
No man is an island. We are created to be in community, and not a community of our own creating. Benson cautions that a soul, enamored of the interior illumination of Christ, must, conversely, also be willing to submit to Christ as he reveals himself to the world in the Church. This is not the Church as interpreted by the World, as interpreted by charismatic figures, as interpreted by people who want to use it for their own means, but as the Church interprets herself through Christ, in her teachings, traditions, and documents -- the True Church, not the idea of Church.
Ideas are heady things. The Purgative way strips away ideas from reality. Now the Illuminative Way emphasizes the reality behind ideas -- the testing of spirits, as St. Paul says. Otherwise, we can be lead away by high spiritual contemplation to do practically terrible things. "Rely not on your own understanding," cautions the Psalmist. Christ does not illuminate us and no one else. We have a part in the Body of Christ, and Christ tells us that that Body is the Church....
And so it behooves a true Friend of Christ to draw not only from his strength, but from his humility. And this humility is one of the greatest qualities to consider when looking for guidance from people who claim to speak in Christ's name. Do they model, not just his zeal or his power, but his humility as well? If not, better test that spirit some more.
It is fitting to consider the example of Christ's humility, and how we might emulate it, before turning to Part II and its initial chapter, "Christ in the Eucharist." For of all the avenues down which this Figure advances to approach us, the Eucharist is the appearance that Benson identifies most with Humility:
"It is in this mannter, then, that He fulfils that essential of true Friendship, which we call Humility. He places Himself at the mercy of the world whom he desires to win for Himself. He offers Himself there in a poorer disguise even than 'in the days of His Flesh...'"
I have always been fond of Aquinas's hymn "Adoro Te Devote," which functions admirably as a prayer to take to heart in the presence of the Eucharist. My favorite verse is the third:
In Cruce latebat sola Deitas,
At hic latet simul et Humanitas,
Ambo tamen credens atque confitens,
Peto quod petivit latro pœnitens.
"On the Cross, Divinity alone lay hidden; but here, Humanity conceals itself at the same time."
Christ in the lowest and meanest of all humans still bears the image of God with which all of us are indelibly marked; Christ as a dead, ground, flat, parched crumb? Not even the barest hint of the image remains.
"Yet both believing and confessing, I seek what sought the thief, repenting."
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When I opened my book to read the chapter, I expected it to be a chapter about encountering Christ in the reception of Holy Communion. In fact I began taking notes speculating about the usefulness of this chapter to people who, for one reason or another, may not receive: the very young, those living where access to Communion is restricted, those in irregular marriages or other situations which preclude reception of the sacrament, and even those who are not Catholics. Especially when I encountered the paragraph:
Jesus Christ, then, dwells in our tabernacles to-day as surely as he dwelt in Nazareth, and in the very same Human Nature; and He dwells there, largely, for this very purpose—that he may make himself accessible to all who know him interiorly and desire to know him more perfectly.
You see, that adjective: "accessible!" I thought I had found an objection. In the act of Holy Communion, Jesus is most assuredly not accessible to all, at least not immediately.
But in fact the chapter is not really about Communion. It is divided into three parts, according to which Benson treats of three different ways which human beings may know Jesus our Friend in the Eucharist. (Consuming Him not, in fact, being necessary to the knowledge!) And those three different modes of knowing our Friend are as material object, the work of human hands; as Sacrificed Victim; and as Food.
We may know Him in these forms merely by contemplating the Eucharist itself, or by contemplating the behavior of believers: our design of churches and chapels with the Tabernacle at the focal point, our reverential handling of the matter, the words of consecration, our adoration, our processions, our hymnody, our careful attention to how one must prepare to receive... even, maybe, in the pastoral barriers that keep some people from reception of the Eucharist. It is our treatment of the Eucharist that communicates its meaning to the curious onlooker.
Flannery O'Connor, in a letter, famously wrote:
Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the ‘most portable’ person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one.
I then said, in a very shaky voice, ‘Well, if it’s a symbol, to hell with it.’
That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.”
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So, Benson gives us a sort of tricolon diminuens: from a crafted object we can move around, display, detest or adore; to victim killed by our cruelty; to a piece of food. He descends further and further at the mercy of the world, that is, us. And even when we are not eating Him, he is totally accessible to us, in fact to everyone, under this form.
For anyone, anyone at all, can come into the Church and contemplate Him there in the Tabernacle, or slip into a pew to hear Mass and consider the words and act of Consecration, or perhaps arrange to spend the third part of an hour in the chapel of Adoration where the Blessed Sacrament is exposed. No one will check your credentials, at least at the public hours.
Many a time I have done this myself. I have looked intently for a long time at the round white wafer, and thought: The Apostle John saw a human being fixed on a gibbet, and also was looking invisibly upon a God. In a like way I see a bit of stuff, fixed under glass in the monstrance, and also am looking invisibly upon a Man. Man and God as well, but let's take it one step at a time, shall we? John knew the God; shall I know the Man?
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If Humility is the attribute of friendship which Christ in the Eucharist most displays, then we can learn from it something new about friendship itself. For to make a friend is to place oneself, to some degree, at the mercy of the friend. We allow them to have their way with our hearts. If not, it's not a true friendship. And in the Eucharist, if we understand nothing else, we can understand that Christ has become for us a thing, body, blood, soul and divinity, all wrapped up in a tiny package, not even a penny's worth of flour, which we can walk away from, treasure, or sell. To contemplate that, to accept it, and to go on contemplating and remaining and watching, is to be His literal companion.
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