I never ever thought I would ever write a reflection on Corpus Christi. Just not my tradition. But during my retreat at St Beuno’s last December, having come for many years on retreat, I went for a walk that led me to visit the local village church in Tremeirchion for the first time. How much I had missed over so many years! It is thought to be the only medieval church dedicated to Corpus Christi. Some yews in the churchyard are about 800 years old. There is also a 14th Century healing cross in the church yard which was returned there by St Beuno’s in 2000 to mark both the new millennium and the long ecumenical friendship. The cross had been discovered locally and bought into the care of St Beuno’s over an hundred years ago by an enthusiast for archaeological treasures. Now it is back where it belongs.
My praying as I began the retreat had been like a quiet journey in the dark, in the shadow of death, though I had been praying with a sentence that had attracted me from the Benedictus which had been read in the introductory session: “the dawn from on high shall break upon us.” I awoke on this memorable day to a grey dawn that gradually became a blue sky with white clouds. As I looked out of the window I found myself recalling the words from a hymn: “Heav’n’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.” This new day felt like a touch of paradise and peace. I felt ready for what next and remembered that the verse of the hymn began: “Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.” I felt drawn to walk in the bright winter sunshine, and so I came to discover the village church in Tremeirchion.
It’s peace and presence was like a benediction as I sat there, noticing the signs of the many activities to welcome all ages, and their preparations for Christmas. I found myself remembering a scripture from John’s Gospel: “They will look on him whom they pierced.” And in my looking I was aware of gazing into the depth of God’s silent love, that accepts the world’s rejection, yet still chooses to love …. me, and all creation, whether received, ignored, or rejected.
Before entering, I had noticed the names and photographs of one lay reader and 12 pastoral assistants in the porch, ministering alongside the woman priest who had oversight for other churches in the mission area. As I sat in the quiet, the thought of ‘Corpus Christi’ as the congregation, embodying Christ locally, came to mind. All the positive signs I have already mentioned, stirred a sense of hope and encouragement through this silent witness. I had also noticed that every Sunday at 11.15am there is a Eucharist. Then Corpus Christi is present in three ways: in the very physicality of this church’s long history of faith, hope, and love, once Catholic, now the Church in Wales; in the very physicality of the people gathering and then ‘scattering’ to be Christ’s presence in the world, a shared ministry in faith, hope, and love; and of course, in the eucharist, in the bread and wine, thankfully received, as I imagined the participants in the paschal mystery looking at the one pierced for them and for all, and being renewed again in faith, hope, and love. Corpus Christi was illuminated for me, reminding me of God’s labouring in time and history, in local ‘selves’ and places, and present in person as gift and grace through bread and wine.
The following day I did the same walk, looking forward to sitting again in the silence of God’s presence in this lovely village church. This time I recalled a verse from Zephaniah(3:17) shared in the homily in evening mass in chapel the day before. I had come to discover that it can be translated in three ways: “He will quiet you with his love.” (Catholic lectionary): “He will renew you with his love.” (NRSV); and “He will be silent in his love.” (NRSV footnote). Each could be realised as a step deeper as I sat there, being quietened, being renewed, and all in a loving silence.
So again on the next day, I did the same walk, a bit like an Ignatian repetition, looking forward to sitting again in the silence of God’s presence in this sacred place called Corpus Christi in silent communion with this living presence. This time, and being the last day of my retreat, I prayed David Fleming’s wonderful paraphrase of the Anima Christi:
Soul of Christ
Jesus, may all that is you flow into me.
May your body and blood be my food and drink.
May your passion and death be my strength and life.
Jesus, with you by my side enough has been given.
May the shelter I seek be the shadow of your cross.
Let me not run from the love that you offer,
but hold me safe from the forces of evil.
On each of my dyings shed your light and your love.
Keep calling me until that day comes,
When with your saints, I may praise you for ever.
Corpus Christi embodied as I had never imagined before!