The people of the island of Carriacou will not have fresh bread today.
It is a beautiful, summer Sunday morning. As usual I am up early. The morning time passes as I drink a strong cup of coffee and watch the activity on the river — not much at this time of day. I try to get centered on God in these moments of beauty.
I’m on Sunday duty this morning and at seven o’clock I begin preparations for the communal Sunday brunch. This involves numerous, simple tasks to be done before the nine o’clock Liturgy.
One of these tasks is slicing bread. We have this handy bread slicer in the basement. When I lift the towel to uncover the bread, for some reason I am awed. Before me are loaves of wood-oven-baked white bread, beautiful and obviously delicious! They look perfect and my mother would certainly have approved these loaves, God rest her soul.
The feel of the bread in my hands and the lingering smell of these perfectly baked loaves begin an inner journey, a reflection. As I begin to slice, loaf by loaf, I have two simultaneous thoughts: What does this freshly baked bread taste like? It must be awesome! And, at the same time, I think of my dear friend Genevieve in Carriacou, Grenada. (Genevieve is a staff member who has been in Carriacou for many years now.)
The people of the island of Carriacou will not have fresh bread today. They hardly have drinking water, after Hurricane Beryl devastated their island a few days ago. Meanwhile my inner journey continues to our close friend Soad in Israel and all the children who don’t have anything to eat today. It continues to Masha and so many of my friends in Russia and Ukraine who also suffer.
Twice, I have personally experienced the destruction of war. I have seen what it means to not have and to have too much. There is a pain in my heart as these two seemingly paradoxical realities collide within my being.
This inner pilgrimage wasn’t a guilt trip or a pity party. Rather it was a pilgrimage into the reality of living in the Mystical Body of Christ.
It began with gratitude. This gratitude rose from my heart with the knowledge that I cannot take this moment for granted. Gratitude has to spring like living waters from a mountain source. Permitting myself to struggle and let the pain enter somehow becomes a prayer. To let God into every fiber of my being and invite him to be present to the reality is inviting him to be present to all humanity.
Part of Catherine Doherty’s spiritual genius was in connecting everything to Christ and his Mystical Body. Everything we do is somehow connected to the rest of humanity.
I am careful with water and electricity: it affects those in Israel. I am careful with my words: it affects those in Russia/Ukraine. I am careful with the way I slice the bread: it affects those in Carriacou. Everything done with care and attention, out of love for God, has tremendous value.
I will give you a concrete example. Some of you may remember that in March of 2024, terrorists attacked a concert venue in a suburb of Moscow, Russia, killing and injuring many people. In Combermere, I wasn’t particularly aware of the tragedy until hearing of it after the fact. But I remember that the day had been challenging inwardly for me, with fears and insecurities having no apparent foundation.
A few days later, I received a message from Masha, my god-daughter. I hadn’t heard from her for a few years. She had attended that concert. She thanked me for my prayers, as she had made it safely out of the theatre. She said it felt like I was there with her the whole time, praying.
Although I cannot say that I had been praying specifically for her, I knew that my standing still in being present and trying to love God that difficult day was a prayer for her and for who knows who else.
God permits us at times to hear these stories, but for the most part we are unaware of how we participate in this mystery. We are all members of one body, and when one member suffers, we all suffer. When one member rejoices, we all rejoice.
We live in mystery. Faith is mystery, hope is mystery and for sure love is mystery. When Catherine spoke of being in union with the whole of humanity, she spoke of it in such a way that your heart knew it to be true — at least my heart did. It isn’t a question of figuring out how it works. It is a call to live in this mystery.
How does one reconcile these two realities when one lives in a situation where we experience the comfort of having freshly baked, white bread on Sunday mornings while others do not have food for the day?
I bring to Mass my fears, insecurities, pain, every experience, and everyone. I lay them on the altar to be offered up and united with the sacrifice of Our Lord, Jesus Christ and then I receive him.
So, what does fresh bread taste like? It is the taste of God himself. It is the Eucharist. It is Love.
If I say to the Lord, “Lord, as I walk out of this door, I walk for all the tired who cannot walk. I walk for all the sick who are in bed. I walk for all those who walk on broken feet, as so many do. I walk for love’s sake, for your sake,” lo and behold, this short little walk is lifted up by the hands of Our Lady and put in the lap of her Son, who picks it up and offers it to the Father.
And down comes the rain of graces for the sick, the lame, the halt and the blind. Within us members of the Mystical body, because we are a body, what we do means a tremendous lot. From a 1963 Spiritual Reading by Catherine on the Mystical Body of Christ.
