Readings (Year A):
Deuteronomy 8:2-3, 14b-16a
Psalm 147:12-13, 14-15, 19-20
1 Corinthians 10:16-17
John 6:51-58
Reflection: Receive the gift, and with it, transform the world
A standard commentary on today’s gospel is to point out that the Greek verb for “eat” shifts in verse 54 from the standard phago to the less common trōgō, a word used to describe the way an animal gnaws or munches its food. This verb only appears six times in the New Testament, and four of them are in this reading.
One etymology posits that trōgō is linked semantically to both the Greek trauma (wounds) and tribos (paths), suggesting a wearing down through repeated action over time. This linguistic connection has curious Christological overtones, when we consider how we enter into Christ’s life through the pathways of his wounds, and he enters into ours when we consume him in the Eucharist. The link is in our repeated daily or weekly effort to walk in his ways, aware of his wounds, fortified by the bread of life that is the subject of our gospel.
In fourth-century Egypt, the desert father St. Macarius made a comparison that hearkens back to this mastication, this munching or gnawing of the body of Christ, when he spoke of ruminating on the name of Jesus as akin to chewing gum—a habit he witnessed as a young boy, he says, “when I was in my father’s house [and] noticed that the old women and young girls had something in their mouth, some sort of gum, that they chewed in order that it might sweeten the saliva in their throat.” He continues, with that monastic memory so saturated in the gospels that it refers everything back to the presence of God:
If this material thing can obtain so much sweetness for those who chew it, how much more can the food of life, the fountain of salvation, the source of living waters, the sweetness of all sweet things, our Lord Jesus Christ, whose precious and blessed name makes demons disappear like smoke when they hear it in our mouth. This blessed name, if we ruminate on it and chew it constantly, obtains a revelation for the intellect, the driver of soul and body, chases all bad thoughts away from the immortal soul and shows her the things of the heavens . . .
Some traditions identify St. Macarius as a “grazer,” a type of hermit active in the early Christian East. Grazers subsisted on wild plants, living like sheep or cattle, which reinforces the image of “ruminating” or “chewing” on the name of Christ. Another story from the literature of the desert fathers alludes to this rumination with a line from the psalms:
A brother asked an Elder: “Why is it that, when I go out to work, I become careless about my soul?” The Elder responded: “It is because you do not carry out what Scripture says: ‘I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth’ (Ps 33:1). If, therefore, whether inside your cell or outside it, you do not cease from blessing God—not only with your mouth, but also with your heart, then you will never be overcome by such carelessness.”
Christ offers a eucharistic invitation in today’s gospel to keep his praise continually in our mouths. He does this, first, by making himself a metaphor for the meal of bread and wine, and then doing what God alone can do: displacing the metaphor so that bread and body are one in the perfect fusion of symbol and reality: “For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.” He leaves us with the responsibility to receive this gift and to use it to pray eucharistically, to transform our relationship with the world in thanksgiving and to offer that daily process of transformation through him to the Father.
