Thought for the week
Corpus Christi: Where art thou?
Corpus Christi was the day of the big procession down Main Street. Holding high the glittering monstrance, the priest led the march. Rows of First Communion children, white swans with joined hands, followed; nuns, the school master and the guards kept order. Crowds lined the street; traffic was re-routed. Earth’s dazzled heaven. Now read on ….
In the recent past, I asked in a classroom: ‘what is Corpus Christi, children?’
One child thought she knew and half put up her hand: ‘Is it the name of a rock band, Father?’
Ouch! As Van Morrison once sang: ‘My Momma never told me there’d be days like this.’
But, you know, those of us on the bus pass shouldn’t wrap these halcyon moments in camphor. Wherever there is fondness, care and respect, there is the Feast of Corpus Christi. I see it now in the comforting hand of a Mom or Dad enfolding that of the chattering child on the way to school. Little anxieties are poured out and anointed with comforts from higher up: the young soul’s aromatherapy.
There indeed is Corpus Christi, most profound and most holy, and celebrated on the streets of Paris, Listowel or Moscow each morning. Many years ago I witnessed this close up when accompanying a friend, once a priest, and then living in Liverpool with his wife and their children. It was a holy moment.
God is in the bits and pieces of everyday.