Keep it real: Why Eucharistic teaching needs to be much more straightforward

The First Communion class met before Mass on Sunday. Nine children, aged between seven and ten, came from families with roots in Nigeria, Kerala, Mexico, Poland, the Philippines – and England, for this was a Catholic classroom in a small town in Shropshire, in the West Midlands.

I had taught Religious Education in a local state secondary school, and so put myself forward for the task of Children’s Liturgist when the previous teacher stood down after 30 years. On the first morning I arrived early, equipped with squash and chocolate biscuits, a candle to be lit for the duration of the class, individual work books, coloured pens and crayons: the tools of the trade.

The recommended work book, I Belong, by Redemptorist Publications, had introduced the children to church vocabulary and had explained to them the significance of their baptisms and the importance of belonging to a church community. We had read the story of the Fall and the parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan. We had discussed what was meant by the love of God, and how we might best worship Him.

On the day of the third class we sat in the church and I asked the children what they could see and what they would like to ask about. Matthew pointed to the tabernacle: “What’s that for?” Eager hands shot up. “It’s where the priest keeps the bread and wine.” Not a bad start, leaving aside matters of accident and substance.

“Why is the bread and wine special?” Hands up again. “Because it’s Jesus’ body and blood.” “So is he dead?” asked Michael. “No,” said Carolina with authority. “He’s in the bread and wine.” “But he can’t fit in there: there’s not enough room.” They looked to me as to a higher authority for an explanation.

And here I began to struggle. Teaching RE in a non-faith secondary school is all about the raising of questions, lively discussion between believers and non-believers and then reference to statements of faith from sacred texts in the search for some understanding. No “truths” are taught as absolutes.

But a First Communion class is, of course, different. Theological truths are to be taught here: “For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink” (John 6:55). “I don’t want to drink blood,” said Matthew. And then, “Freya at my school says God isn’t real.” These were the challenges of the day.

Teaching faith to children in a secular world is not easy when you move away from the myths and the ethics – which are still at the heart of our secular culture – towards deep theology, which is largely incomprehensible in a culture given over to reason and science. But then theology about the Eucharist has been a challenge not just to children and their teachers, but to Catholic theologians since the time of Aquinas and presumably before that, too.

The children struggled with the carnality while at the same time seeing it as the most straightforward explanation: it is not bread or wine, it is Jesus. A miracle happens during the consecration. “So, is it like magic?” “No, that is not the same as the work of God.” “Could Dumbledore have done it?” “No, because he is not God, and he is just a character in a story.”

According to the Pew Research Center (see Katherine Bennett, page 94) about 70 per cent of Catholics in the US believe that the consecrated bread and wine are merely symbolic. There is genuine confusion amongst the baptised. Is the Real Presence the same as carnality? Our loved ones may have been “present” in Zoom meetings during the pandemic, but they were not with us in the flesh.

We left the church and returned to the classroom. “Let’s see if the books can explain it all more clearly,” I said hopefully. “Let’s all read page 114.”

“When we receive Jesus in Holy Communion,” it read, “we are united with Him in a very special way. We are all so close to Him that together we become the Body of Christ. This means that although on the outside we may look just the same as before, by receiving Holy Communion we are changed. We have the risen life of Christ in us. We are the Body of Christ.”

The children were quiet. Surely this was something different again?

“So, when the priest says ‘the Body of Christ’, is he talking about the bread or about us?” asked Andrew.

The word “mystery” came in handy here. I found myself saying to the children that the bread and the wine become the body and the blood of Jesus during the consecration, and that when we receive the sacraments we become transformed – and that this is a sacred mystery. It may be difficult for them to grasp as children but they will think deeply about it as they grow older. Even then, it may remain unfathomable.

We returned to the biscuits and the coloured pens – props unequal to the task in hand – and completed the word searches for the day.

In 2005, Cardinal Raniero Cantalamessa, the Preacher to the Papal Household, said in his Good Friday homily in St Peter’s Basilica that “theology in our day has recovered a more balanced vision of the identity between the historical body of Christ and his Eucharistic body. It places an emphasis on the sacramental character of Christ’s presence in the sacrament of the altar which, however real and substantial, is not material.”

To the untrained eye this may seem to be a step away from Christ’s words in John’s Gospel, and as far as children’s liturgists are concerned there needs to be clarification. Otherwise we risk losing not only our young people, but many of the baptised, in confusion. Am I theologically correct in saying that the bread and the wine are Jesus? Or is it correct to say that his presence is not material? Or is the Body of Christ actually us, the communicants, rather than the Host containing His divine presence? Or perhaps both?

Catholic identity is under self-scrutiny at the moment as we consider the questions asked by the Synod, and move towards a more shared approach to the practice of our faith. Most of the synodal questions, however, relate to ethics and to practice, rather than to our understanding of key beliefs and teachings. Perhaps this is a good time to address these deep theological assertions, which have in many ways defined Catholics since the Reformation.

The children dressed in a variety of styles for their big day. The Keralan girls wore crowns and queenly robes, the Polish boys sported gold suits and the Nigerians wore white T-shirts. I had assured them all that the clothes mattered far less than their faith. But the question hung in the air as they tucked in to their party food and opened the gifts from their sponsors later in the day: what exactly lies at the heart of the faith to which they had committed themselves?

This article appears in the November 2024 edition of the Catholic Herald. To subscribe to our award-winning, thought-provoking magazine and have independent, high-calibre, counter-cultural and orthodox Catholic journalism delivered to your door anywhere in the world click HERE.

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