Flesh for the life of the world: The Eucharistic gift of Christmas

“I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh” (Jn 6:51).

Human beings get hungry. It’s part of our biological nature. But, as spiritual beings, we also feel a higher form of hunger, a longing for spiritual nourishment that transcends a full stomach. To fulfill our deepest desires, Jesus came down from heaven, giving himself in the flesh to satisfy our hungry souls. Christmas is a profoundly Eucharistic feast because Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the “house of bread,” precisely to feed us, lying in a manger for all the hungry to approach.

Israel groaned in servitude, hungering for freedom. Wisemen, gazing toward heaven, hungered for truth. Simple shepherds, out late with their sheep, simply hungered. Jesus fed them all in different ways. The common thread is the gift of his life: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). Jesus did not feed us with mere earthly sustenance, but filled us with a divine feast “welling up to eternal life” (John 4:14).

This is why you are blessed if you “hunger now” (Luke 6:21). If you approach the manger already full, you cannot be filled there. But we mostly hunger for the wrong things, which is why Jesus says, “Woe to you who are full now” (Luke 6:25). We’ve become full of distractions—images, sounds, sights, and entertainment—with our inner sensibilities dulled by fleshly pleasures of the body: sensuality, sweets, money, and possessions. We focus on the flesh not as a source of love but something to possess, grasping after our immediate desires.

During Advent, the surrounding culture already feeds itself upon consumerism and sentimental expressions of the holiday. People are not really looking for anything. Therefore, they do not find their fulfillment of all genuine longing. Wise men, surrounded by camels, shepherds with their sheep—this all becomes tame and even subsumed within the barrage of snowmen, reindeer and evergreens, rather than a genuine search to find the manger. Advent should be a time to grow in hunger, putting ourselves into the place of Israel, recognizing our exile in this world and longing for liberation. We can’t celebrate Christmas well if we don’t hunger for Christ.

Jesus was born to feed you. He came to meet you in your exile, drawing forth your deepest desires and raising them beyond what you could even imagine. As we approach the manger, journeying with the shepherds and wise men, we can find Christ anew as he unveils his flesh to us. The reality of the Incarnation—his coming into the world—continues at Mass. The crib is not empty as we approach it because Christmas does not point to a distant memory; it offers us a living reality in the Eucharist. We truly can rejoice with all those who encountered Christ before us because we, too, find what we need to satisfy our hunger.

Christmas can help us to approach the flesh of Christ in the Eucharist with renewed wonder and joy. Just as Jesus emptied himself becoming a child, he does the same at every Mass, coming to give his flesh to us and satiate our soul’s deepest hunger. He continues to empty himself under the appearance of bread, making himself vulnerable and so easy to overlook. We must hunger for him in faith to recognize him.

This link between the Eucharist and Christmas was unveiled for St. Faustina during Midnight Mass:

“Today during Holy Mass, I saw the Infant Jesus near my kneeler. He appeared to be about one-year-old, and He asked me to take Him in my arms. When I did take Him in my arms, He cuddled up close to my bosom and said, ‘It is good for Me to be close to your heart.’ Although You are so little, I know that You are God. Why do You take the appearance of such a little baby to commune with me? ‘Because I want to teach you spiritual childhood. I want you to be very little, because when you are little, I carry you close to My Heart, just as you are holding Me close to your heart right now.’ And with that, I was again alone, but no one can conceive the emotions of my soul, I was so fully plunged in God, like a sponge thrown into the sea” (Diary, 1481).

Jesus’s offering of himself, completely and entirely, both in his birth and at each Mass should draw us out of ourselves in imitation of him. The more we hunger for him and receive his nourishment, the more we become like him, members of his body given for the world. As we consume him, he transforms us from the inside out, making of us a Eucharistic gift for the world.

Just as we wouldn’t last long without food for our bodies, so our souls starve without the gift of Jesus’s flesh. This Christmas, as you approach the creche, remember that Jesus came from heaven into the world to feed you. Like the oxen and ass, we, too, stand next to his crib to eat. And with this bread of angels, we have what we need to journey from that manger back to heaven.