}

BREAD FROM HEAVEN

S a c r a D o c t r i n a S e r i e s

Series Editors

Chad C. Pecknold, The Catholic University of America

Thomas Joseph White, OP, Pontifical University of St. Thomas

Aquinas
BREAD FROM
HEAVEN
An Introduction
}
to the Theology of
the Eucharist

Bernhard Blankenhorn, OP

The Catholic University of America Press

Washington, D.C
Copyright © 2021
The Catholic University of America Press
All rights reserved
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of
American National Standards for Information Science—Permanence
of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.­48-1984.
∞

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Blankenhorn, Bernhard, 1973– author.

Title: Bread from heaven : an introduction to the theology of the Eucharist /
Bernhard Blankenhorn.
Description: Washington, D.C. : The Catholic University of America Press, [2021] | Series:
Sacra doctrina series | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021021004 | ISBN 9780813233949 (paperback) | ISBN 9780813233956 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Lord’s Supper—Catholic Church. | Lord’s Supper—Real presence.
Classification: LCC BX2215.3 .B58 2021 | DDC 234/.163—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021021004
} ToConfrere,
Richard Schenk, OP
teacher, mentor, and friend
C on te nts
Contents

Acknowledgments ix
Abbreviations xi

Introduction 1
1. Bread from Heaven 8
The Manna in the Old Testament 8
The Manna in the Gospel of John 13

2. The Last Supper 27

The Date of the Last Supper 27
Was the Last Supper a Passover Meal? 31
The Last Supper in Detail 33

3. The Institution of the Eucharist 42

Biblical and Historical Considerations 43
A Systematic Theology of the Institution of the Eucharist 60

4. Christological and Ecclesiological Foundations

for the Eucharist 70
Christ as the Foundation of Sacramentality 71
The Church as Sacrament of Communion 72
Christ’s Humanity Efficaciously Mediates Grace 78
Christ’s Upward Mediation: The Sacrifice of Calvary 82
Sacrifice in the Old Testament 83
Biblical Analogies of Sin 89
Christ’s Passion as a Sacrifice in the New Testament 90
Christ’s Satisfaction for Sins: A Biblical and
Systematic Overview 94

  vii
5. The Eucharistic Sacrifice 98
Scripture, History, and Tradition on Eucharistic Sacrifice 101
A Systematic Theology of Eucharistic Sacrifice 116
Excursus: The Threefold Application of the Fruits of the Sacrifice 149
Evaluating Three Objections to Eucharistic Sacrifice 151

6. The Substantial Presence of Christ in the Eucharist 159

The Theology of Christ’s Corporeal Presence in History 161
A Systematic Theology of Eucharistic Conversion and Presence 170
Excursus: The Metaphysics of Substance and Accidents 175
Protestant Objections and Conciliar Responses 204
Evaluating Recent Objections to Eucharistic Substance 211

7. The Consecration, the Epiclesis, and the

Words of Institution 218
A Historical Study of the Consecration of the Gifts 219
A Systematic Theology of the Consecration 232
Conclusion 242

8. The Minister of the Eucharist 244

The Minister of the Eucharist in Scripture, the
Early Church, and the Magisterium 245
A Systematic Theology of the Eucharistic Celebrant 252

9. Eucharistic Communion 271

Hermeneutical Principles for a Theology of Communion 272
Scripture and the Fathers on Eucharistic Communion 273
A Systematic Theology of Eucharistic Communion 277
Excursus: Spiritual Communion 289
Recent Controversies on Communion 291
Conclusion 301

Bibliography 303
Index of Names 329

General Index 333

viii C on t ents 
Acknowledgments

Several theologians and exegetes helped to sharpen this manuscript, above

all Emmanuel Perrier, OP, who carefully commented on the whole of it
and gave me precious insights. This work would look very different with-
out his wisdom. The biblical sections were strengthened thanks to the
feedback of Fr. Mauro Gagliardi, Anthony Giambrone, OP, and Gregory
Tatum, OP. The last chapter benefited from comments by ­Serge-Thomas
Bonino, OP, and Gilles Emery, OP. Two anonymous readers for CUA
Press offered constructive critiques that allowed me to improve the style
and theological arguments in various places. Many thanks also to John
Martino of CUA Press for his invaluable help and consistent encourage-
ment.
Every chapter integrates the fruits of my annual lectures on the Eu-
charist for the undergraduate students at the Angelicum and echoes of
graduate seminars on the Eucharist. The students’ many questions, in-
sights, and deep curiosity shaped this work in various ways. My research
advanced thanks to the fantastic library resources of the Angelicum and
its reference librarian, Joanna Kryjak. During the periods of intense writ-
ing, I enjoyed the fraternal hospitality of several Dominican communi-
ties, especially the Couvent de saint Hyacinthe in Fribourg, Switzerland;
Blackfriars in Oxford; La Clarté Notre Dame monastery of Dominican
nuns in Taulignan, France; and my province’s house of studies, St. Albert’s
Priory, in Oakland, California. To my brothers and sisters in these de-
lightful places, I am most grateful.
Finally, this book is the l­ong-term fruit of the Eucharistic wisdom,
faith, and devotion of many Dominican brothers, sisters, and lay mem-
bers, of loved ones and parishioners, friends and treasured acquaintances.

  ix
   Abbreviations

CCSL Corpus Christianorum Series Latina

DH Denzinger
PG Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Graeca,
ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris)
a. article
ad answer to an objection
d. distinction
q. question

  xi
}
BREAD FROM HEAVEN
I n t r o d u c t ion
I n t r o d u c t ion

}
INTRODUCTION

In the beginning of his first teaching on the Eucharist, a young Thomas

Aquinas states: “All things that are in the Eucharist pertain to represent-
ing the same reality, namely, the death of the Lord, and to effecting the
same, namely, the grace by which the human being is incorporated into
the mystical body.”1 Here we find in dense summary form the heart of
Eucharistic theology. Since the Eucharist is a sacrament, it is a sign. The
Eucharistic liturgy, especially the consecration, signifies or represents
Christ’s saving death. Because the prayers and gestures at Mass are fruit-
ful, they bring to us what they represent: Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross, with
his body and blood given for the life of the world, and the graces that flow
from it. When we celebrate the Eucharist and partake of his body and
blood, we are joined ever more closely to the Church, Christ’s mystical
body. Contact with the crucified and risen Christ corporeally present en-
tails communion with the Church, and vice versa.
Aquinas offers the most developed Eucharistic theology of any classi-
cal theologian, and has rightly enjoyed much influence on ecclesial doc-
trine and piety. The present study synthesizes Aquinas’s Eucharistic the-
ology with contemporary biblical exegesis, the history of the liturgy and

1. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Sentences, book IV, d. 8, q. 1, a. 1, quaestiuncula 2, sed

contra 2, in idem, Commentary on the Sentences, book IV, distinctions 1–13, trans. Beth Mortensen,
Latin/English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 7 (Green Bay, Wisc.: Aquinas Institute,
2017), 326.

1
the doctrine contained in the Eucharistic prayers, as well as the doctrine
expressed by the councils of Florence, Trent, and Vatican II.
Three themes guide the present study. First, the Eucharist is a celebra-
tion of the Paschal Mystery. That is, we enter into the ­double-mystery of
his Passion and Resurrection. In the sacred liturgy, the dying and risen
Christ prays with us. He consecrates the gifts through the priest and inter-
cedes for us, as the whole Church joins her prayer to his. As a result of his
priestly, dynamic presence, the Lamb’s own body and blood come upon
the altar. The blessings of his saving Passion flow out of the pierced side of
the Lamb corporeally present in our midst. On our altars, we encounter
his risen body. When we eat and drink the body and blood of the glori-
fied Christ, he renders us immortal, as he conforms us to himself, body
and soul. Communion with him also brings us ever closer to the heavenly
liturgy, that perpetual worship of the saints before the ascended Lord, the
celestial ritual in which every Mass on earth already participates.
Second, as our way of entering into Christ’s Paschal Mystery, we are
called to see the Eucharist as the perpetuation of the New Passover. This
calls for special attentiveness to the Last Supper and its link with the Jew-
ish Passover. Furthermore, we want to see the continuity between Christ’s
Passover celebration and the Christian Eucharistic liturgy, especially in
the liturgical practices of the early Christians. The Church celebrates the
sacrifice and sacrament instituted at the Last Supper, a teaching found in
the writings of the Fathers and the early Eucharistic prayers. The Church’s
diverse rites have a common historical and spiritual origin in Christ’s Pass-
over. Consequently, the Eucharistic liturgy is not a ritual that the Church
primarily constructs, but a gift that she receives from her Lord, and that
develops organically over the centuries under the Spirit’s guidance.
Third, the corporeal, substantial presence of the paschal lamb is es-
sential for a Passover celebration. This presence should be understood in
light of the Gospel of John, chapter 6, as well as the doctrine of transub-
stantiation. Proper exegesis of John 6 prevents theology from engaging
in abstract speculation, and also holds much promise for Christian unity.
John 6 offers the most powerful biblical teaching on the mode of Christ’s
presence in the gifts on the altar and a central revelation of the spiritual
fruits offered to us in this, the new manna. This Gospel text also leads us
to understand the Eucharist in light of Christ’s hypostatic union and the

2 I n t ro d uc tion
relation between Christ’s humanity and the Holy Spirit. The theology of
transubstantiation, especially as developed by Aquinas and taught at the
Council of Trent, gives the Church a clear way to exclude spiritualizing
tendencies in theologies of Eucharistic presence, to protect the ancient
and perpetual liturgical practice of adoring the gifts on the altar, and to
give a theological account of biblical, liturgical, and patristic affirmations
about the mode of Christ’s presence in the Eucharistic gifts.
This study begins with Holy Scripture, for Scripture is the soul of the-
ology. The biblical sections primarily employ contemporary critical exeget-
ical studies, without ignoring the contributions of classical exegesis. The
first two chapters focus on two Eucharistic images in the Bible: the gift of
manna, which culminates in Christ as the true bread of life in John 6, and
then, the Last Supper, especially in relation to Passover.
In the third chapter, I ponder the ancient Eucharistic prayers and pa-
tristic witnesses to the Eucharist in antiquity in view of their link with the
Last Supper, with the purpose of recognizing biblical and ecclesial testi-
mony to Christ’s way of instituting the Eucharist. Among these sources,
I look for the place of the institution narrative in the liturgies, common
sacrificial terms in the liturgical texts, and the use of bread and wine, to
see how the Church remains faithful to Christ’s will for this sacrament,
amidst a diversity of liturgical practices.
Chapter 4 takes up essential Christological and ecclesiological foun-
dations of Eucharistic theology. Here, the image of the Church as a sac-
rament of communion will be key. I take up the “descending and ascend-
ing” aspects of Christ’s mediation of salvation: first, the manner in which
he brings life and grace to us through his humanity (instrumentality),
and second his “upward mediation,” wherein he makes sacrifice and satis-
faction for us, so as to reconcile us with the Father. Next, I explore several
Old Testament images of sacrifice, which are fulfilled at Calvary. Finally,
I present a brief discussion of satisfaction for sins, a ­­much-misunderstood
doctrine.
Chapters 5 and 6 form the heart of this book. Chapter 5 ponders the
Eucharist as sacrifice, a neglected doctrine in contemporary catechesis
and preaching. After a brief biblical study of the Eucharist as a sacrificial
offering, I turn to the ancient liturgy and Church Fathers to explore a
range of sacrificial themes: the sacrifice of Christ as victim, the sacrifice

I n t ro d uct i o n 3
of praise and thanksgiving, sacrifice for sins and reconciliation, and oth-
ers. The proper balance between these themes is crucial: theologians and
preachers in various periods in the Church’s history have overemphasized
one at the expense of another. I also seek a balance between the Eucharist
as sacrifice and as meal, ultimately arguing that there is no competition
between these. The systematic part of chapter 5 takes Aquinas and various
Thomists as its guide, to explore difficult questions such as the unity of
the sacrifice of the Mass with the sacrifice of Christ at Calvary. Next, I
look for ways to honor the priority of Christ’s priestly action in the litur-
gy without diminishing the proper role of the Church. Chapter 5 takes
the relation between the interior and exterior sacrifice (of Christ and of
his members) as a guiding theme. This chapter also presents Martin Lu-
ther’s critique of Eucharistic sacrifice and responds to it.
Chapter 6 ponders the manner of Christ’s presence in the gifts on
the altar and how those gifts are transformed. I explore the Eucharistic
realism of the Church Fathers, that is, their manner of affirming Christ’s
corporeal presence in the gift on the altar, without the technical notions
of transubstantiation or substantial presence. Against the background of
the great medieval western Eucharistic controversy, this chapter analyzes
in some detail Aquinas’s theology of how the gifts of bread and wine are
changed and how Christ abides therein. I seek to make this doctrine more
accessible, partly by providing an excursus on the general notions of sub-
stance and accident. The loss of a classical philosophical formation among
theology students and even many scholars of liturgy risks rendering a
large part of Catholic Eucharistic theology unintelligible. Christ’s Eucha-
ristic presence cannot be grasped properly without a metaphysical theol-
ogy, just as the relation of his divinity and humanity cannot be grasped
well without the notions (such as person and nature) that were employed
by the ancient Christological councils. Scripture alone, or appeals to
history, the liturgical texts, or spiritual experience, simply cannot suffice
on matters such as these. Chapter 6 follows up on the study of Aquinas
with an analysis of Trent, in light of three Protestant critiques of transub-
stantiation (in the writings of Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin). Finally, two
alternative contemporary Catholic theologies of presence are explored:
­trans-signification (Schillebeeckx) and symbolic presence (Chauvet).
Chapter 7 takes up the theology of the consecration, or the prayer by

4 I n t ro d u c tion
which the bread and wine become Christ’s body and blood. Here, east
and west have taken somewhat divergent approaches: the east places
greater emphasis on the epiclesis or calling upon the Spirit for the change
of the gifts on the altar, while the west focuses on the words of institution
(“This is my body. . . . This is the chalice of my blood”). This difference,
as well as recent theological proposals to recognize the entire Eucharis-
tic prayer as consecratory, lead to a deeper consideration of the particular
role of the priest and the Church within the liturgy.
Chapter 8 presents a theology of the minister or celebrant of the Eu-
charist. I show the biblical, patristic, and early liturgical foundation for
the doctrine that an ordained minister is the proper presider at the Eu-
charist. Next, I consider how the priest represents both Christ and the
Church, a key notion, since Christ and the Church act through the priest
by representation. Here, the priest’s relation to Christ as Bridegroom of
the Church deserves special attention. The priest’s manner of assisting the
laity in bringing their perfect, personal offering to the Father is also taken
up. The chapter concludes with a brief study of the history and theology
of concelebration.
The ninth and final chapter is dedicated to Eucharistic communion,
a topic of much controversy in recent years. In reliance on Scripture, the
teaching of the Fathers, and early liturgical practice, as well as a series of
systematic arguments rooted in Aquinas, I focus on two key issues: who
may or may not receive Communion, and what are the unique spiritual
fruits of Communion? In an age when a call for “inclusivity” or “a wel-
coming Church” can easily cut theological reflection short, clear and
careful reflection on the reasons for and intelligibility of longstanding li-
turgical practice becomes crucial. I consider the question of Communion
for ­non-Catholics and for the divorced and civilly remarried. The fruits
of Eucharistic Communion are manifold. Here, I ponder the Eucharist as
the sacrament of friendship that increases charity, as spiritual medicine, as
protection against evil, as an intensification of ecclesial unity, as a source
of forgiveness for venial and forgotten sins, and as a means to bodily im-
mortality. We will see how the Eucharist is especially spiritual food and
drink, whose consumption can provoke a spiritual experience or taste of
joy and divine sweetness. Eucharistic doctrine should find its finality in
mystical contact with Christ.

I nt ro d uct i o n 5
 This work provides an introduction to Catholic Eucharistic doctrine
from a dogmatic perspective. It does not pretend to offer a complete Eu-
charistic theology. Thus, not all Old Testament figures of the Eucharist
can be given adequate attention. I do not offer detailed analyses of en-
tire Eucharistic prayers. One reason for these lacunae is simply a lack of
space. Another reason is the deliberate choice to accentuate metaphysical
considerations of the most mysterious and controversial aspects of Cath-
olic Eucharistic doctrine. Today’s academic literature and manuals for stu-
dents abound with liturgical studies that place the liturgical texts and the
history of liturgy in the foreground. On the one hand, the present hand-
book presumes that the reader takes advantage of these resources. On
the other hand, these studies tend to lack a coherent philosophical and
metaphysical account of Eucharistic sacrifice and Christ’s presence in the
Eucharistic gifts. For example, I find that some authors do not adequately
face the question of how the Mass is one with the sacrifice of Calvary.
Thus, some scholars make a quick appeal to the idea that a collapse of the
­space-time continuum occurs in the Eucharistic liturgy, so that the event
of the Cross becomes present now (more on that below). Here, we might
draw an analogy with Christology. While our historical understanding of
the Christology of the Scriptures has advanced much in recent decades,
today, greater attention is needed to doctrines such as the hypostatic
union and Christ’s two wills, explored both historically and systematical-
ly, to show their foundation in Scripture, their philosophical coherence
and their fruitfulness in preaching and pastoral care. Eucharistic theology
has benefited greatly from the renewal of biblical and liturgical studies.
These sources can bear their full fruit in the life of the Church only when
complemented by an appropriation of the Church’s dogmatic Eucharistic
teachings and the metaphysical theologies that undergird them. For just
as the biblical narrative and classical, metaphysical Christology do not
stand in opposition but enrich each other, so the liturgical sources and
a metaphysical Eucharistic doctrine should enrich each other. The quest
for a synthesis of liturgical studies and dogmatic Eucharistic theology re-
mains an unfulfilled desire of our age, and will likely be achieved only by a
team of exegetes, systematic theologians, and historians of liturgy.
Translations of Thomas Aquinas are my own. For Scripture, I use the
Revised Standard Version, the most literal English translation available

6 I n t ro d uc tion
today, with occasional modifications. For Vatican II documents, I use the
English translation from Austin Flannery.2 Regarding the Councils of
Florence and Trent, I employ the translation given in the most recent edi-
tion of Denzinger. Translations of n
­ on-Roman liturgical texts come from
varying sources, at times from recent scholarly literature. As for the new
Roman rite, I follow the 2011 English edition (which is based on the 2008
Latin edition).

2. Vatican Council II, vol. 1, The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Documents, rev. ed., ed. Austin
Flannery (Dublin: Dominican Publications, 1996).

I n t ro d uct i o n 7
B re a d f rom He ave n
B re a d f rom He ave n
Ch a p t e r 1

}
BREAD FROM HEAVEN

We cannot understand the Eucharist without the Old Testament. Al-

ready, here, the divine pedagogue begins to illumine us about his greatest
gift to the Church. The Book of Exodus contains the two most powerful
Old Testament figures of the Eucharist, a first revelation of this gift. We
find the Eucharist prefigured in the Israelites’ celebration of Passover and
in the miracle of the manna in the desert. The next chapter will present
the Last Supper and its link to the Passover. The present chapter ponders
the manna and its New Testament fulfillment. The biblical narrative first
presents the manna in Exodus 16. We also find it in Deuteronomy 8, the
Psalms, and Nehemiah 9. The Book of Wisdom offers an elaborate teach-
ing on the manna. My study will focus on Exodus and Wisdom as a foun-
dation for a reading of John 6, where Jesus reveals the new manna.

The Manna in the Old Testament

From the start of Israel’s pilgrimage through the desert, God fed his peo-
ple with manna. Exodus 16 recounts the beginning of this wonder. The

8
manna was a ­bread-like substance that fell from the heavens in the morn-
ing, while quail (or bird meat) fell in the evening. Now this double mir-
acle was also accompanied by a third, namely, the appearance of the glo-
ry cloud, a great sign of God that is leading the people to the Promised
Land. Israel was fed daily, except on the Sabbath, and so the people were
allowed to gather only as much as they could eat: nothing edible could
be conserved for the next day. Each day, Israel had to look to God for
food. A double portion was gathered on Friday, and this would suffice
for two days, including the Sabbath (or Saturday). All the Israelites re-
ceived the same gift, yet according to the need of each person, so that each
was nourished and satisfied. The gift was not generic, but personal. In
this way, God’s people learned that only he can nourish them, as he fed
them by the manna and his word (through Moses).1 The miracle of the
manna was utterly new: no one had seen anything like it. Their first ques-
tion was, “what is it?” (man hu in Hebrew), and so, it was called manna.
This miracle was an utter surprise, a gift that did not fit into any existing
category in Israel’s knowledge and experience.2 It lasted all through the
Exodus: N. T. Wright points out that it was given neither in Egypt nor in
the Promised Land. This was God’s daily bread for his people on pilgrim-
age, away from the place of sin and toward the land flowing with milk
and honey.3 The manna was for Israel, not for the Egyptians, meaning it
was the food of the righteous, whereas God sent the oppressive Egyptians
plagues.4 This was bread without leaven, like the bread eaten at Passover.
Some of it may have been preserved in the sanctuary of Israel’s temple
(Num 17:2–5; Heb 9:4).5
In the past two centuries, some exegetes have proposed that the man-
1. Claudio Arletti, “La manna, cibo rivelatore del patto tra YHWH ed Israele,” in Il Verbo si è
fatto ‘pane’: l’Eucaristia tra Antico e Nuovo Testamento, ed. Giacomo Violi (Assisi, Italy: Cittadella
Editrice, 2009), 36.
2. R. W. L. Moberly, Old Testament Theology: Reading the Hebrew Bible as Christian Scripture
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2013), 80.
3. N. T. Wright, “The Lord’s Prayer as a Paradigm for Christian Prayer,” in Into God’s Presence:
Prayer in the New Testament, ed. Richard N. Longnecker (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerd-
mans, 2001), 139–40, cited in Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William
B. Eerdmans, 2015), 161.
4. József Zsengellér, “‘The Taste of Paradise’, Interpretation of Exodus and Manna in the Book
of Wisdom,” in Studies in the Book of Wisdom, ed. Géza G. Xeravits and József Zsengellér, Supple-
ments to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 142 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 207.
5. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 153–54.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 9
na was a natural phenomenon, perhaps the resin that comes from desert
flowers or the excretion of desert insects. But such readings have no basis
in the text of Exodus. They also presume an Enlightenment philosophy
that excludes a priori any miracles as impossible.6 Instead, the Book of
Wisdom presents the manna as the central sign of a new order of salva-
tion that simply goes beyond the natural order of the world. Strikingly,
the same book simultaneously affirms the beauty and stability of the nat-
ural order (Wis 5:17–20). In short, there is no conflict or contradiction
between nature and miraculous deeds. Indeed, the biblical account of the
manna stands or falls with its supernatural character.7
Wisdom 16 contrasts the manna with another miracle, the seventh
plague that God sent against the Egyptians. This last plague (before the
death of the ­first-born) was extraordinary, for God sent hail that con-
tained fire (Wis 16:16): hail and fire are signs of God’s judgment of the
sinner, of those who persecute his people. In this way, Wisdom highlights
the extraordinary docility of creation’s elements to God’s will.8
This brings us to Wisdom 16:20–26:
20 Instead of these things [plagues] you gave your people the food of angels, and
without their toil you supplied them from heaven with bread ready to eat, pro-
viding every pleasure and suited to every taste. 21 For your sustenance manifest-
ed your sweetness toward your children; and the bread, ministering to the desire
of the one who took it, was changed to suit every one’s liking. 22 Snow and ice
withstood fire without melting, so that they might know that the crops of their
enemies were being destroyed by the fire that blazed in the hail and flashed in the
showers of rain; 23 whereas the fire, in order that the righteous might be fed, even
forgot its native power. 24 For the creation, serving you who have made it, exerts
itself to punish the unrighteous and in kindness relaxes on behalf of those who

6. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 155. For an excellent response to David Hume’s famous
argument against miracles, see Anselm Ramelow, “Not a Miracle: Our Knowledge of God’s Signs
and Wonders,” Nova et Vetera (English Edition) 14 (2016): 659–73. For the broader issue of mira-
cles and contemporary physics, see Michael J. Dodds, Unlocking Divine Action: Contemporary Sci-
ence and Thomas Aquinas (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2012),
247–58.
7. Pierre Dumoulin, “La manne dans le livre de la Sagesse: Synthèse de traditions et prépara-
tion au mystère eucharistique,” Dissertation of the Gregorian University (Rome: Pontificia Univer-
sitas Gregoriana, 1994), 89–93, 112–13, 134.
8. Chrysostome Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse ou La Sagesse de Salomon, vol. 3, Études bib-
liques, New Series 5 (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1985), 917–18.

10 B re a d fr om He ave n
trust in you. 25 Therefore at that time also, changed into all forms, it served your
­all-nourishing bounty, according to the desire of those who had need, 26 so that
your sons, whom you did love, O Lord, might learn that it is not the production
of crops that feeds man, but that your word preserves those who trust in you.9

The plagues destroyed the earthly food of the Egyptians (e.g., the plague
of locusts), while God sent his people food from heaven. This pattern can
be found again in Paul’s teaching on the Eucharist, which brings life to
the just but condemnation to sinners.10
But what was this heavenly food, and why is it called “the food of an-
gels,” since angels have no bodies? Here, one could mention two ancient
Jewish sources. The Jewish Targum on this text interprets the manna as
bread descending from the realm of the angels. A Jewish Midrash pro-
poses a reference to bread that renders men strong like angels. Wisdom
16 evokes the paternal care of God, he who gives nourishment to his chil-
dren, and shows Israel’s total dependence on God. Verses 20–23 indicate
a food that is utterly marvelous, with extraordinary properties, some-
thing that escapes the normal conditions of matter, and evokes life in a
supernatural world. In this sense, manna is “the nourishment of angels”
or “angelic food,” since it is not natural.11 With this gift, the eschaton has
already begun.
The maker of the manna does not tire in preparing it, for he is omni­
potent. The end of verse 20 mentions the delight that this food produces.
The manna virtually contains every flavor, so that it can satisfy anyone,
according to his or her preference. This is not a miracle that God works
in the receiver’s sense perception, but in the food itself: he does not cause
an impression of a certain taste, rather, he makes the food itself taste a
certain way. Such a theme has a precedent in the ancient Palestinian Mi-
drash on Exodus 16:31, where we learn that the manna tasted like milk
for children, bread for adults, honey for aging persons, and barley dipped
in honey and oil for the sick.12 Albertus Magnus, the teacher of Thomas
Aquinas, mentions oil and manna as he explains 2 Kings 4:1–7 and the
miracle of the oil in the poor widow’s jar: “The oil signifies the Eucharist

9. Translation taken from the RSV, with stylistic modifications.

10. Dumoulin, “La manne dans le livre de la Sagesse,” 159.
11. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse, 922–24.
12. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse, 924–26 (brackets in the original).

B r e a d fro m Heaven 11
well, of which the manna is a figure because it was said that it had the
taste of anointed bread, or oiled bread [Ex 16:31].”13
Now the manna is also a symbol of something greater. It signifies di-
vine wisdom. The manna is the Word of God received and tasted, accord-
ing to the dispositions of the hearer of the Word.14 Verses 25–26 mani-
fest a strong link between the manna and God’s Word: both sustain the
believer in his very existence, giving him life. Indeed, the manna offers a
concrete, physical experience of what the divine word does in an invisi-
ble mode.15 Verse 26 evokes Deuteronomy 8:3: “He humbled you and let
you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did
your fathers know; that he might make you know that man does not live
by bread alone, but that man lives by everything that proceeds out of the
mouth of the Lord.” Here, Deuteronomy primarily refers to the word of
God found in the Law that he has given to Israel. But this word is neither
simply a set of written words, nor just a past revelation of God, for it is
also a present, living reality. Israel must remain disposed to receive God’s
word today, and ought to trust that he continues to guide history and or-
ders all of nature. We see that the terms “word” or “word of God” desig-
nate God’s activity in the midst of creation, an activity that even modifies
the normal course of natural causes. The miracles recounted, whether the
plagues or the descent of the manna, reinforce Israel’s faith that God is all
powerful, present, and acting everywhere.16 Indeed, both gifts can only
be received rightly with faith and gratitude. The fruit of this reception
includes a transformation of human desire, a new hunger for God’s word,
a thirst for wisdom. Gradually, the Israelites should learn to detach them-
selves from the fleshpots of Egypt and look for the food that God pro-
vides, both physical and spiritual nourishment. They sought the manna
early in the morning, and thus man should pray: “I rise before dawn and
cry for help, I hope in your words” (Ps 119:147). Such purification and

13. Albertus Magnus, On the Body of the Lord, trans. Albert Marie Surmanski, The Fathers of
the Church: Mediaeval Continuation 17 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 2017), d. 1, chap. 2, p. 36.
14. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse, 926, 931.
15. Dumoulin, “La manne dans le livre de la Sagesse,” 112–13.
16. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse, 938–39.

12 B re a d fr om He ave n
elevation of desire leads to petitionary prayer. The manna symbolizes the
wisdom for which believers ought to hunger.17
Two other themes from Wisdom 16 deserve mention. First, verse 21a
highlights how the gift of manna reveals the sweetness and tenderness of
God in his whole relation with his children.18 This passage is all the more
striking when we compare it with the recounting of the seventh plague.
Second, the text offers teaching on the mysterious, miraculous mingling
of the material elements in the manna. Verse 24 reinforces this point:
“For creation, serving you who have made it, exerts itself to punish the
unrighteous and in kindness relaxes on behalf of those who trust in you.”
God’s influence makes the elements within the manna change their effects
instantaneously. This is how the first century Jew Philo expounds on the
manna (in his book, The Life of Moses): only God’s sovereign mastery over
matter can account for this event.19
Looking back, we can see that the manna is food for God’s people.
This food provides essential sustenance, for without it, the people would
die in the desert. This gift is wholly supernatural: it manifests God’s ex-
traordinary power over creation. It is bodily nourishment as well as a sign
of spiritual nourishment. Both kinds of food are linked: the word that
nourishes spiritually is also at work in creation, as it makes the manna de-
scend. We thus find a manifestation of God’s sovereignty over creation, of
his immanence, and his radical transcendence. All of these teachings are
essential if one is to contemplate the Eucharist.

The Manna in the Gospel of John

Perhaps no part of the New Testament appropriates the theme of the
manna as extensively as the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel. Here, we find
a miraculous food that both feeds the bodies of God’s people and points

17. Dumoulin, “La manne dans le livre de la Sagesse,” 119–22.

18. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse, 929. See also Albertus Magnus, On the Body of the Lord,
dist. 1, chap. 2, p. 41, where he glosses Wisdom 16:21: “In his sweetness, God sweetly thinks of us.
Nothing can be thought or desired sweeter or better than that God should be in us in his divinity
and humanity, as sustenance for life invigorating us, and as spiritual food perfecting in us all union
with himself.”
19. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse, 930.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 13
to a greater gift. The proper understanding of the true manna is a matter
of life and death. John 6 ends with a Petrine confession that harkens back
to Wisdom 16.20
John 6 begins with the multiplication of the loaves.21 The time is close
to the feast of Passover. This accentuates the manifestation of Jesus as the
new Moses: the first Moses was present at the first Passover and interced-
ed with God so as to feed the people in the wilderness. The setting in John
evokes the first Passover mentioned in the Gospel, when Jesus changed
water into wine at the wedding in Cana ( Jn 2:13), and points the reader
toward a third Passover, the Crucifixion ( Jn 19:14). The Passover theme
sets the whole of chapter 6 in relation to the paschal lamb.22
As John’s Gospel continues, five thousand men have followed Jesus,
for he has been healing the sick. Ancient Jewish tradition looked forward
to the Messiah as a new Moses who would renew the miracle of manna in
the future.23 After the feeding, Jesus crosses the Sea of Galilee by walking
on the water. This event confirms his extraordinary power over creation.
Jesus’ body can exceed the limits of nature’s laws, for divine power is at
work in him.
There has been some debate about the internal unity of chapter 6.
Many Scripture scholars today hold that Jesus’ discourse on the bread
of life ( Jn 6:25–71) is internally coherent and thematically unified.24
But some exegetes consider verses 51–58 a later addition. They identify a
teaching on faith as the central theme of verses 31–50, and contrast it with
a teaching on Christ’s flesh and blood in verses 51–58. For example, Ru-
dolf Bultmann holds that verses 51–58 are too Eucharistic to have come
from the evangelist. Bultmann refers this passage and the teaching on
baptism in chapter 3 to a later redactor. He also sees the redactor adding
sacramental themes to verses 39, 40, and 44 of chapter 6.25
Bultmann’s claim is based on a theological a priori, for he assumes
20. Dumoulin, “La manne dans le livre de la Sagesse,” 157.
21. Already by the third century, popular Christian exegesis gave this miracle a Eucharistic
reading, as can be seen in the art of the Catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome.
22. Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary, vol. 1 (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson,
2003), 665.
23. See 2 Baruch 29:3–8; see also Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 198–99.
24. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:675.
25. Rudolf Bultmann, Das Evangelium des Johannes, ­Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über
das Neue Testament (Göttingen, Germany: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968), 161–63.

14 B re a d fr om He ave n
that the evangelist could not have had a robust doctrine of the Eucharist.
Bultmann hypothetically reconstructs the evangelist’s theology, perhaps
partly on the basis of his own. In fact, verses 31–58 fit well together. Verses
32–58 essentially expound on verse 31, which reads: “He God gave them
bread from heaven to eat.”26 Bultmann misses this link. The theme of
manna stands out at the beginning of the bread of life discourse, and re-
turns in verses 49 and 58. Indeed, the manna theme frames verses 31–58.27
This theme connects verses 49–58 with the multiplication of the loaves.
We will soon see other links between verses 31–50 and 51–58.
Raymond Brown identifies the following structure for Jesus’ discourse:
an introduction (verses 25–34) is followed by three parts: (a) Jesus as the
bread of life (verses 35–51a), (b) a Eucharistic section (verses ­51b–59), and
(c) the listeners’ reaction to Jesus (verses 60–66).28 However, the exegesis
of Augustine and Thomas Aquinas may be more illuminating here: they
see the manna (and thus the miracle of the loaves in verses 1–15) as a sign
of spiritual food, which takes two forms: Christ’s word and his flesh. This
reading manifests well the internal unity of the whole of chapter 6 and
its link with the Old Testament manna: the Israelites who consumed the
word of God spiritually also attained life.29 In this interpretation, verses
25–59 show how Jesus seeks to guide his audience’s hearts and minds from
the visible manna to the invisible, spiritual manna in its various forms: the
person of Christ himself, his word or wisdom, and his Eucharistic flesh
and blood. As a good pedagogue, Jesus will expound on the various aspects
of the true manna, one after the other, where each part of his explanation
prepares for the subsequent one.
After the multiplication of the loaves, the people follow Jesus across
the sea to Capernaum. He exhorts them: “You seek me not because you

26. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:675, 678.

27. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 198.
28. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John, Anchor Bible Commentary 29 (New
York: Doubleday, 1966), vol. 1, 293–94.
29. See Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, tractate 26, no. 12, in Augustine, Tractates on
the Gospel of John 11–27, trans. John W. Rettig, The Fathers of the Church 79 (Washington, D.C.:
The Catholic University of America Press, 1988); also Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel
of John, chapter 6, lectio 2, no. 881; lectio 3, no. 895; lectio 6, no. 954, in Thomas Aquinas, Com-
mentary on the Gospel of John, Chapters 1–8, ed. the Aquinas Institute, trans. F. R. Larcher, Latin/
English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 35 (Lander, Wyo.: The Aquinas Institute for
the Study of Sacred Doctrine, 2013).

B r e a d fro m Heaven 15
saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not labor for the
food which perishes, but for the food which endures to eternal life, which
the Son of man will give you” ( Jn 6:26–27). The manna in the desert and
the miracle of the bread in Galilee both primarily aim to offer a lesson
about the word of God. Aquinas sees the food that endures as “God him-
self, inasmuch as he is the truth to be contemplated, and the goodness
loved, which refreshes the spirit; [as in] Proverbs 9:5: ‘Eat my bread.’”30
This food is divine wisdom, imperfectly contemplated here below, and
perfectly enjoyed in the vision of God face to face. Christ offers food that
has a permanent effect of nourishing, unlike earthly food, which nour-
ishes for a day. The ultimate effect of this food that Christ is offering is
the gift of eternal life. Christ himself gives this food, and we receive it
by faith. Verse 29 explains that working for the food that endures means
believing in Jesus.31
At John 6:30–31, the Jews demand yet another miracle. Their mental-
ity is earthly or fleshly: they are interested in free food, not in Jesus’ word,
nor in eternal life.32 He needs to raise their minds to a higher way of per-
ceiving the manna. Jesus responds to their request for food by comment-
ing on Psalm 78:24, which they just quoted to him: “He [God] gave them
bread from heaven to eat.” The Father gives the true bread from heaven:
“For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives
life to the world” ( Jn 6:33). Jesus here alludes to the Incarnation: he is
the eternal Word who has become flesh (1:14). Because he is the eternal
Word, he brings the ultimate wisdom, the definitive revelation. We find
the same theme of Christ as the bread descending from heaven later, in
verses 38, 41–42, 50–51, and 58. This theme unites various parts of the dis-
course on the bread of life.33
The Old Testament wisdom imagery is evident. Jesus uses it to show
the excellence of his person and his teaching. Sirach 24:21 has wisdom
declare that whoever eats and drinks her will hunger and thirst for more.
The ancient rabbis identified this wisdom with the Torah.34 But the wis-
30. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 3, no. 895.
31. André Feuillet, “Les thèmes bibliques majeurs du discours sur le pain de vie ( Jean 6).” Nou-
velle revue théologique 82 (1960): 810–14.
32. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:678.
33. Feuillet, “Les thèmes bibliques,” 923.
34. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:679–81.

16 B re a d fr om He ave n
dom of Jesus is greater, for “he who comes to me shall not hunger, and
he who believes in me shall never thirst” ( Jn 6:35). This is an astounding
claim. It evokes the messianic banquet promised in the Old Testament, a
banquet which God himself prepares for his people, so that they might
no longer hunger and thirst.35 Later verses also take up this theme of the
messianic banquet, at which God himself will teach his people.36
Jesus has come down from heaven to do the Father’s will ( Jn 6:38).
He thus looks forward to the Passion, for the Cross is the means whereby
the Father wills to bring life to the world. The finality of Jesus’ coming in
the flesh is our resurrection from the dead on the last day, that is, bodi-
ly resurrection ( Jn 6:39–40, 54). Eating spiritual food makes our bodies
immortal, giving them the fullness of life. Jesus will participate in the Fa-
ther’s work of raising the dead. Christ thus points to his divine identity.37
He will enable us to enter into the eschatological banquet where he will
also feed us. In this teaching about our future resurrection, we see another
indication of Jesus’ extraordinary sovereignty over material creation. Such
power recalls one of the major themes of the Book of Wisdom and its
teaching on the Old Testament manna. This will be important when we
consider the change of the Eucharistic gifts.
At John 6:41, the Jews murmur, like the disgruntled Israelites in the
desert who murmur and rebel against Moses (Ex 16). The Jews do not un-
derstand Jesus’ origin, for they think that he is only a man. They do not
recognize his divine origin. For this reason, they cannot understand how
Jesus himself can be the manna, nor how he can come from heaven. Jesus’
­self-description as the bread of life defies human reasoning. The person of
Christ cannot be understood without revelation: the same applies for the
Eucharist.
John 6:32–50 dwells at length on the mystery of Christ’s person, his
wisdom, and the reception of both through faith. We see that this faith
has a specific object, namely, the Incarnate Word, he who has come down
from heaven. Faith implies clinging to all that Christ is with complete
trust. The theme of faith in Christ does not exclude a Eucharistic inter-
pretation of John 6. This will have implications for our understanding of

35. Is 48:21, 48:9–10, 65:13.

36. Jn 6:45; Is 54:13–55:1; Jer 31:31–34; Feuillet, “Les thèmes bibliques,” 817–20.
37. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:684.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 17
Eucharistic communion and the importance of faith when one partakes
in the Eucharist.
We now come to the most disputed part of John 6, namely, verses
51–63. As we seek to make sense of the text, we should recall that there
is no Catholic dogma that requires a Eucharistic reading of this passage.
A ­non-Eucharistic interpretation was adopted by some early ecclesiasti-
cal writers, such as Clement of Alexandria and Origen.38 The Council of
Trent abstained from excluding such readings of John 6.39 Thus, we can
ask: In John 6, does Jesus speak of his flesh and blood metaphorically or
in another way?
First, let us look at the text of John 6:48–63 and 66.
48 “I am the bread of life. 49 Your fathers ate (ephagon) manna in the wil-
derness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, that
a man may eat (phagē) of it and not die. 51 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 (sarx).”
52 The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying “How can this man give
us his flesh to eat?” 53 So Jesus said to them, “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you
eat (phagēte) the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in
you; 54 he who eats (trōgōn) my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I
will raise him up at the last day. 55 For my flesh is real food, and my blood is real
drink. 56 He who eats (trōgōn) my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I
in him. 57 As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who
eats (trōgōn) me will live because of me. 58 This is the bread which came down
from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats (trōgōn) this bread
will live forever.” 59 This he said in the synagogue, as he taught at Capernaum.
60 Many of his disciples, when they heard it, said, “This is a hard saying.
Who can listen to it?” 61 But Jesus, knowing in himself that his disciples mur-
mured at it, said to them, “Do you take offense at this? 62 Then what if you were
to see the Son of man ascending to where he was before? 63 It is the spirit that
gives life; the flesh is of no avail; the words that I have spoken to you are spir-
it and life. . . . 66 After this many of his disciples drew back and no longer went
about with him.40

38. Rudolf Schnackenburg, Das Johannesevangelium, vol. 2 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder,

1971), 97.
39. F.-M. Braun, “L’eucharistie selon saint Jean,” Revue Thomiste 70 (1970): 6.
40. Translation from RSV, modified by Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 195.

18 Br ea d fr om He ave n
Verse 51 transitions from the language of the “bread of life” to “flesh and
blood.” The same verse also identifies these. The evangelist thus presents a
link with the preceding verses and also introduces a new theme.
Verses 51 and 53 probably echo the Last Supper traditions that under-
lie the Synoptic Gospels. First, Raymond Brown points to the proximity
with the words of institution in Matthew 26:26–28. Even more import-
ant is the likely parallel with Luke (or the tradition behind Luke), which
reads: “This is my body which is given for you” (Lk 22:19). John seems to
echo this phrase when Jesus says: “the bread that I shall give is my flesh for
the life of the world” ( Jn 6:51).41 As Brown notes, regardless of the fact
that John’s account of Jesus’ last meal before his Passion is vastly different
from that of the Synoptic Gospels, John’s Gospel comes from Asia Minor,
a crossroad which would hardly have ignored the primitive Eucharistic
liturgical tradition to which the Synoptic authors and St. Paul witness.42
Second, at verse 53, we have the combination of eating flesh and drinking
blood, which is highly unusual.43 This combination would seem to echo
the Last Supper as well. Overall, verses 51–53 provide excellent reasons to
read verses 51–58 eucharistically.
Verse 52 recounts the Jews’ reaction to Jesus’ invitation to eat his
flesh, and suggests a violent dispute. Deuteronomy 28 forbids the con-
sumption of human flesh. Jesus responds to the Jews’ perplexity by tak-
ing the language even further: (a) he repeats the term “flesh,” (b) makes
the verb used for “eating” more graphic, and (c) adds the consumption
of his blood: “unless you eat (phagēte) the flesh of the Son of man and
drink his blood, you have no life in you; he who eats (trōgōn) my flesh and
drinks my blood has eternal life” ( Jn 6:53). The Book of Leviticus forbids
the drinking of any blood, even that of other animals: it was the place of
man’s and the animal’s life, which belong to God alone (Lev 17:10–12).
Jesus therefore appears to contradict a strict Torah prohibition in a very
direct way.
We have seen Jesus switch from one verb for eating to another. The use
of the Greek term trōgein seems to be provocative. We could also translate

41. Brown, The Gospel according to John, 1:285.

42. Brown, The Gospel according to John, 1:247.
43. Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John, trans. G. R. ­Beasley-Murray (Philadelphia: West-
minster, 1971), 235; Feuillet, “Les thèmes bibliques,” 821.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 19
it as “to munch,” “to gnaw” or “to chew.” Jesus uses it no less than four
times in verses 54–58. Now James D. G. Dunn argues that John’s prefer-
ence for this term may tell us little. He holds that John may be following
a typical stylistic trend of the era, in which the verb esthiein (“to consume,
to devour,” standard in the LXX) is replaced by trōgein as the present
tense of phagein (used by the Jews in Jn 6:53).44 In this way, it was becom-
ing a more standard, generic term for “eating.” Now it is true that John
never uses the word esthiein. However, John never uses trōgein elsewhere,
except to modify a citation of the Greek Old Testament (the Septuagint)
in John 13:18.45 That is, he uses it only in chapter 6 and in the narrative
of Jesus’ last meal with his disciples before the Passion. Both Brown and
Pitre have signaled important Passover motifs in John 13.46 This further
points to a Eucharistic meaning of trōgein in John 6. Thus, Dunn’s objec-
tion falls short.
Other clues in the text call for a literal reading of the verb. John 6:55
uses the term “real food” to indicate that Jesus’ body and blood have real
value.47 The essential background text remains the gift of manna in the
desert, which was accompanied by quail or bird meat. While the manna is
also consumed spiritually, it was not only metaphorical food. Hence, it is
reasonable to argue that the new manna is also corporeal food.48
The language of eating in verses 54–68 is therefore intended to be
graphic, and this deserves explanation. The object to be consumed is
Christ’s flesh, sarx in Greek. This term recalls the prologue of John’s Gos-
pel: “And the Word was made flesh.” John 19:38 refers to the dead body of
Christ as sōma, not sarx. This does not signal a denial of a link between
the gift of his flesh and his crucified body ( John 6:51 already established
that link). Rather, Christ’s discourse on munching his flesh (sarx) in-
dicates that his living body, and not his cadaver, should be eaten.49 The
theme of sarx gives a first indication that Christ does not intend any form

44. James D. G. Dunn, “John VI—A Eucharistic Discourse?,” New Testament Studies 17
(1970–71): 334.
45. Brown, The Gospel according to John, 1:283.
46. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John, Anchor Bible Commentary 29A (New
York: Doubleday, 1970), vol. 2, 576; Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 346–50.
47. Brown, The Gospel according to John, 1:283.
48. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 201, 210.
49. Braun, “L’eucharistie selon saint Jean,” 8–9.

20 B re a d fr om He ave n
of cannibalism, which is precisely what the Torah forbids. But what does
Jesus mean when he says that we should eat his flesh?
Christ’s own disciples now begin to grow restless. He responds with
perhaps the most debated verses of the entire chapter: “Do you take of-
fense at this? Then what if you were to see the Son of man ascending to
where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh [sarx] is of no
avail; the words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life” ( Jn 6:61–63).
For scholars such as Craig Keener, verse 63 confirms that Jesus’ entire dis-
course has been metaphorical: we are to eat Jesus by faith, thus attaining
life through the power of Christ’s Spirit at work in those who believe.50
Dunn’s reading is similar but goes further, as he detects a negative sacra-
mental view in John: the language of eating describes the effect of union
with the ascended Jesus through his Spirit, not the effect of the sacra-
ment, for “the flesh is useless.” Furthermore, Jesus himself remains in the
earthly realm of sarx: only once he rises and ascends will he give the Spirit
to his disciples.51
There are several problems with these interpretations. First, Keener
essentially reduces the meaning of verses 51–58 to the teaching of vers-
es 27–50. If the passages on eating Christ’s flesh say little more than the
preceding verses, why does Jesus spend so much time repeating himself ?
Were verses 27–50 not challenging enough? Furthermore, this misses the
way in which Jesus’ discourse progresses thematically: he moves from the
offer of the food that endures, with its wisdom imagery (v. 27), to an ex-
hortation to faith (v. 29), a teaching on the Incarnation (v. 33), the food
that satiates every hunger and thirst (a theme that was not explicit before)
(v. 35), and the promise of resurrection (v. 40). In a Eucharistic reading,
verses 51–59 build on these themes without repeating the same lesson.
Second, Keener says nothing about the graphic language of munching on
Christ’s flesh.52 He sidesteps the realism of the text, without explanation.
Keener acknowledges that many early Christian interpreters, such as
St. Ignatius of Antioch and St. Justin Martyr, gave this text a Eucharistic
reading. Yet he rejects their interpretation as unreliable. Keener argues that,
since Ignatius’s and Justin’s teachings on the episcopate go beyond Scrip-

50. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:690.

51. Dunn, “John VI—A Eucharistic Discourse?,” 332, 334–37.
52. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:687–91.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 21
ture, we need not accept their reading of John 6.53 Keener thereby seeks to
justify his refusal to engage in the details of a n ­ ineteen-hundred-year-old
exegetical tradition.
Brown and Pitre have laid out several arguments for a positive Eucha-
ristic reading of John 6:51–59. First, when the Old Testament speaks of
eating someone’s flesh and drinking his blood, it always refers to a violent
situation. That is, the Old Testament never uses such imagery as a meta-
phor for believing in someone or accepting their teaching.54 Second, Pitre
notes the link between the consumption of Jesus’ flesh and blood and be-
lievers’ future bodily resurrection.55 This suggests that, in each case, we
have a nonmetaphorical reference to a body. Third and more important-
ly, Augustine and others have noted that the words “the flesh is useless”
cannot possibly signify that Jesus’ human body is useless for salvation, for
it would contradict the teaching of John’s prologue on the Incarnation.56
Yet Dunn makes precisely that perplexing claim. On the contrary, much
of John’s Gospel highlights the astounding value of Jesus’ humanity. In
addition to these three arguments, we can say that the use of trōgein, the
invitation to drink his blood and the reference to Jesus’ flesh as “real food”
encourage a literal, Eucharistic reading of verses 51–59. Consequently, we
should look to interpret verse 63 in a way that stands in harmony with the
positive references to Christ’s flesh in verses 51–59.
There are at least four additional reasons to give John 6:62–63 a posi-
tive Eucharistic sense. First, the phrase “the flesh is useless, the Spirit gives
life,” signals the refusal of a cannibalistic interpretation of Jesus’ words, an
interpretation that his audience assumes.
Second, Pitre argues that verse 62 contains a widely overlooked Old
Testament allusion, namely to Daniel’s Son of Man. Verse 62 reads: “what
if you were to see the Son of man ascending to where he was before?”
Here, Jesus fulfills a mysterious prophecy of Daniel 7:13–14, where one
like a Son of man comes on the clouds, is presented to God and given do-
minion over all peoples. In other words, Christ will ascend to heaven, to
“where he was before,” but in a glorified state. Hence, in verse 62, he iden-

53. Keener, The Gospel of John, 1:689.

54. Brown, The Gospel according to John, 1:284; Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 206–7.
55. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 208.
56. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, tractate 27, no. 5.

22 Br ead fr om He ave n
tifies himself with a celestial figure, though not in order to diminish the
value of his human flesh.57 In this way, John signals that the flesh Christ
will give for food is heavenly flesh, and not earthly. His flesh will truly
come from heaven, like the manna in the desert. Because he will ascend
to heaven, the glorified Christ will be consumed in the Eucharist, so that
those eating the new manna will not do violence to him, nor will those
consuming him become cannibals.
The allusion to Daniel 7 ( Jn 6:62) helps to explain why Christ’s words
are “spirit and life” (v. 63). The entire discourse can be understood as a
teaching on the coming resurrection and ascension of Jesus, on the trans-
formation of his very body and blood into a state of immortality.58 Yet
this does not mean that we have entered the realm of pure metaphor: Je-
sus’ disciples will really eat his body and drink his blood. However, they
cannot yet fully grasp his teaching on the Eucharist, for they must still
come to believe in his glorification, when his body will be S­ pirit-filled,
and when they will grasp his teaching by the help of the Spirit given at
Pentecost.
A third reason is offered by Cyril of Alexandria in his Commentary on
the Gospel of John, composed between 425 and 428. Cyril acknowledges a
Eucharistic reading of John 6, yet much of his exposition of verses 50–63
focuses on the person of Christ, and not on the Eucharist. Cyril explains
that, by becoming man, the Son of God, who is life by nature, renders his
human body l­ife-giving. Cyril argues that Christ’s activity of raising the
dead comes not just by his powerful word but also by his body: he is the
Incarnate Word.59
These considerations undergird Cyril’s interpretation of John 6:63.
The Egyptian patriarch notes that, considered in itself, the flesh is of no
benefit, for it cannot give life. Mere human flesh can nourish a body, but
it cannot transmit eternal life. Yet the mysterious union between Christ’s
body and his l­ife-giving Word changes everything. The Johannine phrase
“the flesh is of no avail” applies to other flesh or bodies, but not to Christ’s
57. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 214–19; Brown, The Gospel according to John, 1:299
58. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 215–19.
59. Cyril of Alexandria, Commentary on the Gospel of John, vol. 1, trans. David R. Maxwell, ed.
Joel C. Elowksy, Ancient Christian Texts (Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP Academic, 2013), bk. 4, chap.
3, John 6:51 (Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Graeca, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris) [hereafter PG]
73:520), p. 232; John 6:52–53 (PG 73:529–30), pp. 236–37.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 23
flesh, because his is the flesh of the O
­ nly-Begotten Son. When considered
by itself, flesh is useless and cannot give eternal life. Yet Christ’s flesh does
not exist by itself, it is not merely the body of a man: “Because his whole
flesh is utterly united to him [the Logos] and clothed with life giving
power, it now ought to be called ‘spirit’ as well.”60 It is therefore the hypo-
static union that ensures that Christ’s flesh is not useless. Cyril’s exegesis
reminds us that Christology is crucial for any reading of verses 51–63.
Finally, a fourth reason, which is similar to Cyril’s and which draws
inspiration from Augustine, can be found in Thomas Aquinas. According
to the Bishop of Hippo, verse 63 highlights the power of the Spirit be-
cause Eucharistic communion leads to ecclesial union, which is the work
of the Holy Spirit.61 Augustine also reads verses 51–63 in reference to Je-
sus’ Eucharistic body, with a focus on its fruitfulness in believers. Aquinas
follows Augustine and notes that the flesh of Christ is joined to the Word
and the Spirit, that is, to the eternal Son (the Logos) and to the Holy
Spirit. For this reason, the flesh of Christ cannot be without benefit, for
otherwise the Incarnation would not be fruitful in bringing us salvation.
If we ponder Christ’s body in abstraction from his divinity and from the
Holy Spirit that fills his humanity, then we cannot perceive the benefit
of his flesh. But in doing so, we mentally separate what cannot be sepa-
rated in reality. Those who commune in the Eucharistic body of Christ
derive much benefit, because the Spirit and Christ’s divinity come to the
believer through the Eucharistic body and cause him or her to remain in
Christ. His flesh gives life, but only because it is joined to the divinity of
the Logos, whereby we are given access to the Spirit.62 In the background
stand the Filioque: The Son gives the Spirit, for the Spirit proceeds from
the Son (and the Father) from all eternity.
Let us note that these four ways of reading verse 63 as a reference to
the Eucharist do not exclude each other. John often speaks at multiple
levels, and his text remains open to further meanings that arise in the tra-
dition.

60. Cyril of Alexandria, Commentary on the Gospel of John, vol. 1, bk. 4, chap. 3, John 6:63
(PG 73:552), p. 247. Compare Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio
4, no. 914 (on John 6:35); lectio 6, no. 959 (on John 6:51 in modern Bible editions).
61. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, tractate 27, nos. 5–6.
62. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 8, no. 993.

24 Br ea d fr om He ave n
 Now let us consider a theological consequence of John 6. This bibli-
cal text does not directly teach the doctrine of the substantial presence
of Christ’s body and blood. However, it calls for a Eucharistic theology
that goes beyond the alternatives of Christ’s merely symbolic presence
or a ­hyper-realistic vision that borders on cannibalism. Communion in
Christ’s flesh goes beyond a purely spiritual communion. Also, Eucha-
ristic doctrine needs to account for some type of corporeal union with
Christ that transcends the limits of nature’s laws, and thus also transcends
cannibalism. The close link between the Eucharist and the manna theme
calls for nothing less. A theology of communing in Christ’s body and
blood in a corporeal way is the route that the early Church takes, cen-
turies before invoking the notion of transubstantiation. The doctrine of
transubstantiation continues and develops this patristic theology.
Let us summarize the effects or fruits of the Eucharist that John 6 pro-
poses, either explicitly or implicitly. First, the multiplication of the loaves
shows an innumerable crowd that is hungry and then satiated. The Eucha-
rist is a gift whose power to nourish knows no limits and fills the desires of
the human heart. Second, the Eucharist gives life, starting here and now,
and continuing for eternity (verse 51), which is to say that the sacrament
imparts grace. Third, the Eucharist leads to the Resurrection of the body
at the end of time (verse 54). Christ will resurrect us, which is fitting given
that he is the immortal, risen Christ who already lives within us by his
flesh and blood received in the Eucharist. Fourth, eating Christ’s flesh and
drinking his blood leads to a new or deeper mutual indwelling of Christ
and the believer, which imitates Christ’s dwelling in the Father and the
Father’s dwelling in him (verse 56). Fifth, the Eucharist imparts a more
intense participation in the Holy Spirit (verse 63). Indeed, we should nev-
er separate Christ and the Spirit. Finally, the Eucharist as spiritual food
should be understood in light of the whole discourse: we are to feed on
the wisdom of Christ received in faith, and also on his flesh and blood. In
other words, the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist go
together: the first opens us to a fuller share in the blessings of the second,
and the second heightens our hunger for the wisdom of Christ.63 We find

63. Emmanuel Perrier, “Le Pain de Vie chez L ­ ouis-Marie Chauvet et saint Thomas d’Aquin:
Représentation de l’inconnaissable ou terme de l’union spirituelle?” Revue Thomiste 113 (2013): 216.

B r e a d fro m Heaven 25
the same pattern in Jesus’ appearance to two disciples on their way to Em-
maus (Lk 24).
Looking back at John 6, we can see how Jesus’ l­ife-giving flesh is at
once the body offered up at the Cross (verse 51), risen (verse 62), glorified
and overflowing with the Spirit (verse 63). Right after his death, the body
of the crucified Lord was opened and water burst forth ( Jn 19:31–36). For
John, water is a powerful sign of the Spirit (see 7:37–39). All of this points
to Christ’s Eucharistic body, a body at once spiritual (full of life) and cor-
poreal.64

64. Roch A. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb: Eucharistic Theology from a Biblical, Histor-
ical and Systematic Perspective (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2007), 61.

26 Br ead fr om He ave n
Th e L a s t Sup p e r
Th e L a s t Sup p e r
Ch a p t e r 2

}
THE LAST SUPPER

The theology of the manna reaches its apex in John 6: it is our first biblical
pillar for the doctrine of the Eucharist. The Last Supper constitutes the
second pillar. This is evident from our own Eucharistic celebration today.
A fierce exegetical debate has taken place over the last few decades on
whether the Last Supper was a Passover meal. This question is crucial for
Eucharistic theology, as we will see in subsequent chapters. We need to
consider both the date of the Last Supper and the internal clues about its
paschal identity. Finally, we look at other details of that sacred event.

The Date of the Last Supper

Crucial to the question of whether the Last Supper was a Passover meal
is the date on which it took place. The Synoptic Gospels affirm that it
was a Passover meal (Mk 14:12–16, Lk 22:7–13), while the Gospel of John
apparently places Jesus’ Crucifixion on the Day of Preparation for the
Passover ( Jn 19:14). In other words, John seems to place Jesus’ last meal
with his disciples on a Thursday, but seems to present Friday evening as
the vigil of Passover, and Saturday as the day of Passover.

27
 A first group of interpreters (led by the great Lutheran exegete Joa-
chim Jeremias) have argued that John’s chronology is theological: John
wants to show Jesus as the true Passover Lamb who is sentenced at the
same time that the lambs are being slaughtered in the temple in prepara-
tion for the evening of Passover.65 This theory says that, chronologically,
Friday was the day of Passover. The Synoptic Gospels are historically ac-
curate in making the Last Supper a Passover meal, while John does not
intend to give a historical chronology. Leading exegetes such as Martin
Hengel, Craig Keener, and E. P. Sanders support this approach. It is also
called “The Synoptic hypothesis.”66
A second approach, favored by Raymond Brown and other scholars,
argues that John’s timing is historically accurate and that the Synoptic
Gospel writers are confused. Therefore, the Last Supper occurred before
the lambs were slaughtered in the temple and was not a Passover meal.67
This approach is also called “the Johannine hypothesis.”68
A third approach modifies the second and finds support with N. T.
Wright as well as Joseph Ratzinger’s second Jesus book.69 According to
this approach, Jesus knows that his death is coming, and that he will
not be able to celebrate the Passover according to the standard, majority
calendar, which would place the Passover meal on Friday evening. Jesus
knows that he will already be dead by Friday evening. Therefore, he cel-

65. Joachim Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, 3rd ed. (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress
Press, 1966), 1–61.
66. Martin Hengel and Anna Maria Schwemer, Jesus und das Judentum (Tübingen, Germany:
Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 582–86; Craig S. Keener, The Historical Jesus of the Gospels (Grand Rapids,
Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2009), 372–74; E. P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (London:
Penguin, 1993), 285–86.
67. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John, Anchor Bible Commentary 29A (New
York: Doubleday, 1970), vol. 2, 555–57.
68. Such exegesis gives support for liturgical studies that read the early Christian Eucharist
not in relation to the Passover but rather as modeled on the Jewish festive meal, including the qid-
dush prayer. This theory has inspired multiple liturgists to propose hypothetical reconstructions of
the liturgy in the early centuries of the Church in abstraction from the Passover meal. For exam-
ple, Enrico Mazza uses this approach in an extensive way as he hypothesizes about the nature of
the early Christian liturgy. See Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist: The Origin of the Rite and
the Development of Its Interpretation, trans. Matthew J. O’Connell (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical
Press, 1998), 19–34.
69. N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1996), 556–
59; Joseph Ratzinger, Jesus of Nazareth, Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into Jerusalem to
the Resurrection, trans. Vatican Secretariat of State (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2011).

28 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
ebrates a New Passover meal with his disciples, but he does so on Thurs-
day, the day before the Passover, as recounted in John. This would give
John priority in the chronology of days while also partly accounting for
the Synoptic Gospels, which identify the Last Supper as a Passover meal.
Ratzinger argues that it is highly unlikely that the high priests and Phar-
isees would have participated in Jesus’ trial on the eve of Passover and
sought his execution on the day of Passover, because of Jewish purity laws.
But this would be the case if we were to follow the Synoptic chronology
instead of John’s chronology.70 In other words, Jesus instructs the disciples
to prepare a new Passover meal and celebrates it early. This approach is
also called “The Anticipatory Passover Meal hypothesis.”
Other exegetes favor a fourth approach and argue that the evangelists
followed different calendars: John followed the official lunar calendar
used by the Jerusalem priests in 30 a.d., while the Synoptics followed a
calendar used in Galilee and Qumran.71 In other words, Jesus celebrated
the Last Supper on the Passover according to an alternative Jewish priest-
ly calendar (a calendar transmitted via ancient Jewish texts, the Book of
Jubilees, and the Qumran community). According to this theory, Jesus
would have celebrated the Passover meal on Tuesday, been arrested on
Wednesday and died just before the Passover as dated by the Jerusalem
priests’ calendar. Such an interpretation finds support in an ancient tradi-
tion about the date of Jesus’ Last Supper: the ­third-century Christian text,
the Didascalia of the Apostles, states that Jesus celebrated his Last Supper
on a Tuesday. This fourth approach is also called “the Essene hypothesis”
(after the calendar of Qumran).
Brant Pitre has offered some insightful critiques to these ways of un-
derstanding the timing of the Last Supper. First, the Johannine hypoth-
esis maintains that no Passover lamb is mentioned in the Synoptic ac-
counts of the Last Supper.72 Pitre responds that it was Jewish custom to
refer to the lamb simply by using the term Passover (pesah in Hebrew, pas-

70. Ratzinger, Jesus of Nazareth, Part Two, chap. 5, section 1.

71. Annie Jaubert, The Date of the Last Supper, trans. I Rafferty (Staten Island, N.Y.: Alba
House, 1965).
72. Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave, a Commen-
tary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels, vol. 2, The Anchor Bible Reference Library (New
York: Doubleday, 1994), 1364.

Th e La s t Supper 29
cha in Greek). He cites Mark 14:12 and Luke 22:7–8, 14–15 as evidence.73
Second, the Johannine hypothesis maintains that the Jewish leaders could
not have entered Pilate’s palace and participated in a trial on the day of
Passover, since this would have violated the Torah (e.g., Lv 23).74 Pitre
responds by distinguishing between the Sabbath rest and certain activ-
ities permitted for special Jewish feasts, including Passover. Following
E. P. Sanders, Pitre points out that the question of which activity was per-
mitted on such feasts was highly debated by the Pharisees in Jesus’ time.75
Thus, rabbinic tradition called for the execution of false prophets during
feasts, and the prohibition of sitting in judgment pertained only to daily
matters.76 Third, Pitre takes up an objection from Raymond Brown, who
holds that, in John, the lambs were already being sacrificed at noon on
the day of Christ’s Crucifixion. Pitre responds that there is no historical
evidence for this claim. Instead, all ancient Jewish sources that refer to
the timing of the slaughter (e.g., the Book of Jubilees, Qumran texts, and
Philo) place it between three and five o’clock in the afternoon. But John’s
Gospel never mentions this time. All that John 19:14 says of Jesus’ trial
before Pilate is the following: “it was the day of Preparation of the Pass-
over; it was about the sixth hour.” Now John does not mention the sacri-
fice of the lambs, while Josephus (who served as a priest in the Jerusalem
temple) states that any such sacrifice before three o’clock was unlawful.77
Yet the Synoptic accounts tell us that Jesus died at three o’clock, and in
their chronology, this would be ­twenty-four hours after the slaughter of
the lambs.78 We should note that John does not mention the time of Je-
sus’ death.79 Fourth, regarding the Anticipatory Passover Meal hypothe-
sis, Pitre points out that there is no precedent in Second Temple Judaism
(i.e., Jesus’ historical era) for an anticipated Passover without a lamb.80
In my view, some version of the first theory (the Synoptic hypothesis)
would seem to offer the best solution. For example, Craig Keener main-

73. Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2015), 291.
74. Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:1358.
75. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 296.
76. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 300–302; Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, 78–79.
77. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 325–28, referencing Josephus, Questions on Exodus, 1.11.
78. Mt 27:46, Mk 15:34, Lk 23:44–46.
79. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 330.
80. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 306–8.

30 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
tains that Mark’s Gospel is generally more dependable in its historical de-
tails than John’s. In Mark, Jesus is executed on the day of Passover, just
before the eve of the Sabbath. One can easily find theological motives for
John to describe Jesus’ trial and death as occurring just before the eve of
Passover (even if it is not simultaneous with the sacrifice of the lambs).
Keener also signals that the Last Supper recounted in the Synoptics seems
to presuppose that the slaughter of the lambs has already begun, because a
Passover lamb is being eaten.81 Thus, Keener does not espouse a l­amb-less
Last Supper. I would add that it is wrong to see John as pure theology,
yet the historicity of the Synoptics should not be underplayed, especially
when they conflict with John (e.g., on the chronological duration of Jesus’
ministry).82

Was the Last Supper a Passover Meal?

The debate just mentioned evidently touches on the question of whether
the Last Supper was a Passover meal. For if the historical death of Jesus
took place while or before the lambs were slaughtered in the temple, then
the Last Supper recounted in the Synoptics could (at best) have been a
modified (­lamb-less) Passover meal, so that Jesus anticipated the feast
with his disciples. Yet some scholars go further and hold that the Last
Supper was not a Passover meal at all. They argue that the lamb is never
mentioned in the narrative, and that key elements of the Passover ritual
are missing in those accounts.83
And yet, several exegetical arguments show that the Last Supper was
indeed a Passover meal. First, the theme of remembering (such as: “Do this
in memory of me”) points to the Passover.84 Second, in 1 Corinthians 11,

81. Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of Matthew: A S­ ocio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids,
Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 1999), 622–23.
82. A theological gloss is not “invented theology,” but the work of the Holy Spirit, in the sense
that (1) the Spirit illumines the apostles in their preaching to bring out the hidden significance
of God’s saving work, and (2) the Gospel writers never intended to follow the standards of mod-
ern historiography, even if their genre as ancient biography takes them well beyond the genre of
­un-historical or mythological writings.
83. See, for example, James D. G. Dunn, Christianity in the Making, vol. 1, Jesus Remembered
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2003), 772.
84. Roch A. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb: Eucharistic Theology from a Biblical, Histor-
ical and Systematic Perspective (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2007), 29.

Th e La s t Supper 31
Jesus speaks of his body given for others and his blood poured out for
sins, two images of his expiatory death. These words fit well with the role
of the presider or father of the family at the Passover meal. At this ritu-
al meal, the presider explains the meal’s elements and the events remem-
bered, as he designates an instrument of redemption by taking some food,
such as bread, fruits, or nuts.85 Third, the Last Supper took place at night,
while the main daily meal in Jewish culture took place in the afternoon.
Fourth, both the Last Supper and Passover concluded with a hymn, likely
from Psalm 118, or perhaps Psalms 114–117 (Mk 14:26, Mt 26:30).86 Fifth,
as noted above, the Passover lamb is mentioned indirectly, using Jewish
custom of the time, simply by referring to the pascha.87 Sixth, the fact that
some elements of Passover ritual are missing in the New Testament ac-
counts of Jesus’ Last Supper need not be fatal: the evangelists need not
mention every detail. An omission does not mean that something did not
occur. The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence.
Finally, even if historical exegesis cannot give absolute certitude about
the nature of the Last Supper, other texts and early tradition offer a pre-
cious witness. At 1 Corinthians 11:26–34, Paul describes Jesus’ Last Supper
precisely by terms taken from the Jewish Passover.88 This finds support in
second century Christian authors. Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho
places Jesus’ arrest on the day of Passover, which allows the Last Supper to
be celebrated on the eve of Passover.89 St. Irenaeus of Lyon describes Jesus
as eating the Passover and suffering his Passion on the next day.90

85. Leo Scheffczyk, Die Heilszeichen von Brot und Wein: Eucharistie als Mitte christlichen Le-
bens (Munich: Don Bosco Verlag, 1973), 29.
86. Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek
Text, The New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B.
Eerdmans, 2000), 871.
87. Mk 14:12, Lk 22:7–8, 14–15; Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 291.
88. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 440.
89. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, chapter 111, no. 3, in The Apology, The Second Apology,
Dialogue with Trypho, ed. Michael Slusser, trans. Thomas B. Falls, rev. Thomas P. Halton, Fathers of
the Church 6 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2003).
90. Irenaeus of Lyon, Against the Heresies, book 2, chapter 22, no. 3, in Against the Heresies,
vol. 2, trans. Dominic J. Unger and John J. Dillon, Ancient Christian Writers 65 (New York: Paulist
Press, 2012); Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 323.

32 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
The Last Supper in Detail
The Last Supper account was transmitted by four witnesses: Matthew,
Mark, Luke and Paul. These four recitations of the Last Supper have many
common elements, for they witness to Jesus’ historical deeds. The same
four texts also contain some noteworthy differences. Many scholars agree
that these reflect the emerging ­first-century liturgical traditions.91 For
example, Mark’s version, whose Greek echoes various Semitic phrases,
probably has roots in the Jerusalem liturgy, while Paul’s smoother Greek
reflects the ­Greek-speaking Antioch liturgy.92 The Last Supper accounts
give a precious witness to the content of the Christian liturgy in the first
decades of the Church, to what the first Christians commonly practiced
by the 40s and 50s. This is a good example of how ­historical-critical schol-
arship can be at the service of faith. The Spirit guided the composition of
the Scriptures and the liturgical developments of different communities
so as to reveal the truth of the New Passover. Revelation is richer with
these multiple texts than it would be if we had four identical accounts,
which reflected only the precise historical deeds and words of Jesus on
Holy Thursday.
We have seen why the Last Supper was a Passover meal. The struc-
ture and meaning of the Passover are crucial to understand the Last Sup-
per itself. No New Testament account gives a complete description of all
details. Rather, each narrative is a summary that focuses on just some of
Jesus’ words and deeds.93 No evangelist needs to say everything. Yet this
also means that we can arrive at only a probable reconstruction of some
elements of the meal.
Both Mark (14:12–16) and Luke (22:7–13) tell us that the disciples
prepared the Passover in the afternoon, at the time when the lambs were
being slaughtered in the temple. The Torah (Dt 12:5–6, 13–14) and an-

91. Dunn, Christianity in the Making, 1:229–30; Jacques Dupont, “‘Ceci est mon corps’, ‘Ceci
est mon sang’,” Nouvelle revue théologique 80 (1958): 1028; Otfried Hofius “The Lord’s Supper and
the Lord’s Supper Tradition: Reflections on 1 Corinthians 11:23b–25,” in One Loaf, One Cup: Ecu-
menical Studies of 1 Cor 11 and Other Eucharistic Texts, ed. B. F. Meyer, New Gospel Studies 6 (Ma-
con, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1993), 75–77; Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 22–23, 26.
92. Pierre Benoit, Exégèse et théologie, vol. 1, Cogitatio fidei 46.1 (Paris: Cerf, 1960), 212.
93. Benoit, Exégèse et théologie, 1:212.

Th e La s t Supper 33
cient Jewish literature such as the Book of Jubilees stipulated that it must
be celebrated in the city of Jerusalem. At the Jerusalem temple, between
three and five o’clock in the afternoon, the disciples would have found
thousands of priests offering an immense number of lambs.94 The disci-
ples would have left the temple with a sacrificed lamb. The lamb could
be eaten only at night, which explains why the Last Supper took place in
the evening.95 Jesus gathered with the twelve (Mt 26:20, Mk 14:17). Luke
mentions the apostles, by which he means the twelve (6:13, 22:14).96
We do not have absolute certitude about all the elements and pro-
gression of a first century Passover meal. Yet if the second century Jewish
Mishna reflects first century practice, then we can say that Jesus’ last Pass-
over probably would have looked as follows.
The disciples would have reclined on cushions next to the table, that
is, not as slaves, but as free men. The celebration opened with a blessing
(quiddus) over the first cup said by the father of the family or the presider
(in this case, Jesus), and it begins in this way: “Blessed are you, our Lord,
king of the world, Creator of the fruit of the vine.”97 All drank from the
cup and then washed their hands. The presider took celery with salt and
vinegar and said: “Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the world, Cre-
ator of the fruit of the earth.” All ate of the same dish. Then some unleav-
ened bread was broken, though without consuming it right away. With
this introductory rite completed, one proceeded to the main part of the
meal.98 The paschal lamb was brought to the table and left whole for the
moment. A second cup was distributed but not yet consumed. Raising a
dish of unleavened bread, the presider then said: “This is the bread of mis-
ery, which our fathers ate in the land of Egypt.” Here usually followed a
dialogue between the father and his sons on the meaning of the elements
of the ritual: the unleavened bread, the bitter herbs, and the lamb. The
first part of the Hallel (Psalm 113 or 113–114) was sung. The second cup
94. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 390–94.
95. E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (Philadelphia: Trinity Press
International, 1992), 134–37.
96. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 24.
97. In this paragraph, I translate from Cesare Giraudo’s reconstruction of the rite. See his In
unum corpus: Traité mystagogique sur l’eucharistie, trans. Éric Iborra and P
­ ierre-Marie Hombert
(Paris: Cerf, 2014), 112–24.
98. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 108–11, 165.

34 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
was raised, and the presider prayed: “Blessed are you Lord our God, king
of the world, who have redeemed us and who have redeemed our fathers
from Egypt.” All drank of the cup and again washed their hands, while
saying a prayer. Then the presider broke a whole piece of unleavened
bread and said: “Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the world, who
have brought this bread from the earth.”99 It was normal for the presider
to insert other words here. Perhaps at this point, Jesus would have add-
ed a new blessing: “This is my body.” The mention of Jesus breaking the
bread at the Last Supper helps us to see its possible location within the
progression of the Passover ritual. This blessing was completed before the
participants ate the unleavened bread, or, in this case, Christ’s body. The
eating of bitter herbs and unleavened bread would have followed, each
accompanied by a blessing. If Jesus retained the ritual order of the Pass-
over, then the lamb would have been eaten at this point as well.100 Next
came a prayer of thanksgiving over a third cup. In the Passover ritual, this
prayer included an introductory dialogue followed by an elaborate triple
blessing, for the gift of creation, for the gift of the covenant, and a plea
for the restoration of the house of David. If we take Luke and Paul as wit-
nesses to the historical order of the Last Supper’s celebration, then Jesus’
words over the cup were probably uttered over this third cup, though the
matter is disputed.101 This cup very likely contained red wine. During the
blessing, Jesus would have elevated it by about the width of a hand.102
Then came the concluding rite. The second part of the great Hallel was
sung, namely, Psalms 115–118, the last of which is a Psalm of thanksgiv-
ing. The blessing and consumption of a fourth cup normally would have
followed, but it is not clear whether Jesus completed this part of the rit-
ual at that time.103 The Last Supper accounts end abruptly, as Jesus and
the disciples depart for Gethsemane. The next time we see him drink is
when he consumes vinegar from a sponge just before his death, just after
having refused the cup of vinegar mixed with frankincense to numb the

99. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 124–25.

100. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 125–26, 166–67.
101. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 483n124.
102. Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, 177, 221–24.
103. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 483n124.

Th e La s t Supper 35
pain.104 This may signify that the new Passover ritual was completed on
the Cross.105
Overall, the Passover meal celebration essentially employed the basic
structure of the Jewish meal ritual, while adding special prayers and dish-
es.106 Louis Bouyer has shown that the early Christians recognized the
importance of this meal ritual: the ancient Eucharistic prayers integrated
and developed various Jewish table blessings, as well as blessings used in
the synagogue service (berakah or thanksgiving).107 I will return to this
theme in chapter 5.
Now we can look more closely at the meaning of two phrases: Jesus’
words over the bread and cup, and the command to do this in his memo-
ry.108 In the phrase “This is my body,” the pronoun “this” (touto) is neuter,
not masculine. The Greek term for “bread” is masculine. Therefore, Jesus
does not intend to say: “This bread is my body.” Xavier L ­ éon-Dufour pro-
poses that Christ thereby indicates a gift. With the benediction or bless-
ing of the presider in the Passover ritual, the unleavened bread becomes
a gift from God. Thus, Jesus essentially says: “This [gift of God] is my
body.”109 This seems correct, yet it was evident to ancient Jews celebrating
the Passover, with its many blessing prayers, that all of the elements were
gifts from God. Max Thurian rightly argues that “this” also indicates the
entire action of taking bread, giving thanks, breaking and giving it, while
saying “Take, eat, this is my body.”110 Yet Scripture’s meaning is often
­multi-valent. We should not lose sight of the striking simplicity of Jesus’
expression. He essentially tells us: “This thing, that which is in my hands,

104. Mt 27:31–36, 48; Mk 14:36, 15:23; Lk 23:36; Jn 19:29–30.

105. On this theme, see Scott Hahn, The Fourth Cup: Understanding the Mystery of the Last
Supper and the Cross (New York: Image, 2018).
106. Louis Bouyer, Eucharist: Theology and Spirituality of the Eucharistic Prayer, trans. Charles
Underhill Quinn (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), 80.
107. Bouyer, Eucharist, 106ff.
108. I do not adopt part of Cesare Giraudo’s analysis of these key phrases, as he proposes to
read the details of the Last Supper strictly in light of Jewish ritual and theology of memorial (In
unum corpus, 179–81). In my view, the gift of the Eucharist is too new, so the Jewish categories offer
a necessary but not sufficient foundation for the interpretation of Christ’s words.
109. Xavier ­Léon-Dufour, Le partage du pain eucharistique selon le Nouveau Testament (Paris:
Seuil, 1982), 140.
110. Max Thurian, The Eucharistic Memorial, Part 2: The New Testament, trans. J. G. Davis,
Ecumenical Studies in Worship 8 (Richmond, Va.: John Knox Press, 1961), 34–35.

36 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
is in fact my body.” This is precisely how Catholic tradition has under-
stood him.
In all four accounts of the Last Supper, Jesus refers to his body, soma
in Greek. In the Synoptic Gospels, this term refers not just to the physical
aspect of the human being, but to the whole person, with an emphasis
on human fragility.111 The ancient Jewish use of the word already point-
ed to man’s mortality (e.g., Eccl 14:17, 17:31). Now Jeremias argues that
this holistic understanding of “body” is not as important in this context.
Rather, he maintains that we should primarily see the mention of “body”
in relation to the other key term, “blood.” In ancient Judaism, the couplet
“body/blood” signals the two main parts of the sacrificial animal, which
are separated when it is slain, so that it can be offered to God. The body/
blood couplet, taken together with other sacrificial allusions (such as “for
you”) means that Jesus is evoking his coming sacrificial death.112 Yet the
usual sense of soma, as a reference to the whole person, can still be hon-
ored. Hence, the phrase “This is my body which is for you” also has the
meaning, “This is me, who will die.”113 This theme is echoed when Mat-
thew and Mark mention the blood that “will be poured out.” By these
words, Jesus indicates his own person in the act of dying. It is a prophecy
of his coming, violent death.114
The Synoptic authors and Paul mention the covenant in relation to
the cup. The phrase “this is my blood of the covenant” and “this cup is the
new covenant in my blood” evoke the blood of the covenant in Exodus
24. At the foot of Mt. Sinai, God establishes a covenant with Israel by an
offering of animals, whose blood is sprinkled on the people. The scene
culminates with Moses, Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and seventy elders ascend-
ing the mountain to eat and drink in God’s presence. Now Jesus institutes
a new covenant by a new sacrifice. We find the same combination of sac-
rifice and meal in the Passover tradition: the eating of the Passover lamb
completed the Passover sacrifice.115

111. Bernard Dupuy, “Pâque juive et Pâque chrétienne: à l’origine de la différence herméneu-
tique,” ISTINA 48 (2003): 350.
112. Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, 221–22.
113. ­Léon-Dufour, Le partage du pain, 141–43; Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 409.
114. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 187–88.
115. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 94, 410.

Th e La s t Supper 37
 We now come to a key question: Does Scripture itself call for a literal
reading of the words, “This is my body,” “This is my blood”? Does Christ
thereby signify what theology will later call the Real Presence? Here, we
should distinguish two levels of interpretation. The first level considers
only the Last Supper accounts, in abstraction from John 6 and the Chris-
tian tradition. The second level integrates these three sources. From the
perspective of the former, phrases such as “This is my body” could be a
reference to the Real Presence, but it is not absolutely certain that, taken
by itself, the phrase needs to have this sense. Why is this so? Jesus’ gesture
and words at the Last Supper have a prophetic character, for they point to
the Cross, to his coming death. The Old Testament prophets use expres-
sions whose style comes close to that of Jesus’ phrase at the Last Supper.
Thus, God tells Ezekiel to cut off his hair and throw it into a fire before
the people, while saying “This is Jerusalem.” The prophet signifies that Is-
rael or Jerusalem is surrounded by the pagan nations (who are signified by
the fire) (Ezek 5:1–5). Now Ezekiel does not mean that the hair surround-
ed by fire literally is Jerusalem or the people of God. Scripture sometimes
uses prophetic expressions with the structure “This is . . .” without a literal
sense. Therefore, when read in isolation, Jesus’ words at the Last Supper
need not signify the Real Presence.116
Yet we should also note two crucial differences between Christ’s and
Ezekiel’s words. First, Ezekiel’s use of the phrase “this is” involves a par-
able, in which he presents a symbol in order to teach the Israelites. But
at the Last Supper, Jesus does not speak in parables. Nor is he primarily
teaching. Rather, he invites his disciples to eat, to do something, and he
is concerned with offering them a share in the power of his sacrifice, in
his sacrificial body and blood, which are very concrete realities. The genre
of parable hardly fits the Last Supper narrative.117 Second, such parabol-
ic prophecies have efficacy in the moment, and not the future. But Jesus’
deed at the Last Supper is destined to be efficacious throughout the fu-
ture: “do this in memory of me.”118
There is another reason to opt for a literal reading of Christ’s words:
The Last Supper accounts contain multiple references to sacrifice. In an-

116. Dupont, “‘Ceci est mon corps’, ” 1033–34.

117. Benoit, Exégèse et théologie, 1:228–29.
118. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 179n47.

38 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
cient Judaism, it was essential to commune in the victim being sacrificed,
especially the Passover victim, so as to receive the saving power of the sac-
rifice. Now if Jesus is the New Passover Lamb, then communing in a mere
symbol of Jesus is not enough.119 Therefore, on the basis of the Last Sup-
per accounts, one can make a probable argument in favor of a literal read-
ing for the words of institution. That argument attains certitude when we
combine it with John 6 and ancient tradition.
We can now look at the subsequent words of Jesus at the Last Supper.
When Mark and Matthew witness to this sacred event and recount that
Jesus refers to “many,” they mean neither “some” nor “many, but not all.”
Rather, the word “many” points to a multitude that could include all.120
Jesus also describes his suffering and death in a way that evokes Isaiah’s
Suffering Servant.121 In Isaiah 52:14–15, the “many” for whom the Servant
suffers include the Gentiles, and not just Israel (who are indicated by “the
many” in Is 53:4–8). “The many” therefore has a potentially broad mean-
ing, as it evokes a vast, undetermined multitude.122 Isaiah’s Christological
prophecy ultimately directs our gaze toward two crucial teachings: God’s
universal salvific will in Christ and the actual reception of salvation by
faith. That is, Christ died in order to save all and offers that gift to each
person ( Jn 6:51), yet the gift’s reception comes by faith, which entails the
person’s free entry into the Covenant sealed in the blood of the lamb.
The paschal setting of the Last Supper implies that “the many” being ad-
dressed are God’s people. In this way, “the many” mentioned in the Last
Supper narratives of Matthew and Mark neatly parallels the “for you” re-
counted by Luke and Paul in 1 Corinthians. The preceding interpretation
further helps to explain the later and constant liturgical tradition of trans-
lating the hyper pollon of the Last Supper Narrative as “for many” in the
Eucharistic prayers.123
Luke and Paul report Jesus’ commandment: “Do this in memory of

119. Dupont, “‘Ceci est mon corps’,”1038.

120. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 191n62; Helmut Moll, Die Lehre von der Eucharistie als Opfer
(Cologne: Peter Hanstein, 1975), 59. See also Hebrews 2:9.
121. Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, 226–29; Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 100–104.
122. Ben F. Meyer, “The Expiation Motif in the Eucharistic Words: A Key to the History of
Jesus?,” in Meyer, One Loaf, One Cup, 25–26.
123. See Manfred Hauke, “Versato per molti:” Studio per una fedele traduzione del “pro multis”
nelle parole della consecrazione (Siena, Italy: Cantagalli, 2008).

Th e La s t Supper 39
me.” This precept echoes the divine commandment in Exodus 12, that the
Passover ritual is to be celebrated in the future. Jesus commands not an
exact repetition of the entire Last Supper, but of the particular rite that
he has celebrated with the bread and the single cup, which is “a covenant
in my blood.”124 It is a command to eat the body and drink the blood in a
ritual manner.125
Some scholars argue that the command to celebrate this ritual in Je-
sus’ memory is a later addition, and not a saying of the historical Jesus.
They point to the absence of the phrase in Mark and Matthew and argue
that it would not have been deleted.126 But this reading remains uncon-
vincing.127 For an omission is not a deletion. Each Gospel writer worked
with a wealth of material about the Last Supper and had to choose some
elements. Also, Mark and Matthew knew the importance of following Je-
sus’ example in the life of the Church, something that Matthew’s recount-
ing of the great commission at Jesus’ Ascension makes explicit.128 Further-
more, Mark and Matthew reflect liturgical practices that have applied the
command to “do this” in Jesus’ memory: for the communities linked with
Mark and Matthew regularly celebrated the liturgy by imitating part of
Jesus’ Last Supper. Strikingly, the entire ancient liturgical tradition has re-
tained the phrase “do this.”129
The same command seems to contain another, very specific mean-
ing: it is not simply an ordinance for the community. Jesus’ command
to “do this” (touto poieite in Greek) likely evokes a cultic action. In Exo-
dus 29:31–35, God explains to Moses an ordination ritual, and then tells
him to “do this” (poieseis . . . houtōs in the Septuagint) to Aaron and his
sons, that is, to anoint them as priests. In Numbers 15:8–11 and 15, we find
God’s instructions on how the priests are to perform a peace offering with
the sacrifice of a bull, flower and wine. They are to “do this” (houtōs . . .
poiēseis). Here, “doing” means “to sacrifice.” The language of remembering
only reinforces this sense, for it points to the ritual repetition or reenact-

124. Scheffczyk, Die Heilszeichen, 45.

125. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 29.
126. Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, 128
127. Benoit, Exégèse et théologie, 1:221.
128. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 193.
129. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 192.

40 Th e L a s t Sup p e r
ment of the Passover sacrifice. Thus, at the Last Supper, Jesus commands
the repeated, cultic celebration of the New Passover.130
To conclude this chapter, let us notice the presence of two major
themes in the biblical accounts of the Last Supper: (1) the theme of sac-
rifice is omnipresent; and (2) the meal theme is present, but it does not
dominate over the theme of sacrifice. Rather, we find a balance of both
themes.
130. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 417–20.

Th e La s t Supper 41
Th e I n s t i t ution of t h e Euc h ar i s t
Th e I n s t i t ution of t h e Euc h ar i s t
Ch a p t e r 3

}
THE INSTITUTION OF
THE EUCHARIST

The previous two chapters gave us the beginning of a biblical foundation

for a systematic doctrine of the Eucharist. We now turn to a historical
and theological study of the institution of the Eucharist, with a focus on
liturgical practice in the ancient Church. This theme is intimately linked
with the Last Supper.
The current topic offers a veritable theological key to the rest of Eu-
charistic doctrine. Our answer to the question of what the Eucharist’s in-
stitution concerns will largely shape the rest of our work. The issue of in-
stitution is crucial, for the Eucharist is a gift from Jesus, a gift that assures
the Church’s unity and fidelity to him. As Bruce Marshall notes: “Con-
formity to his words and deeds, doing what he did, is not a matter of mere
historical accuracy or obsessive primitivism, but of grateful submission to
the design of God for our salvation.”1 In short, we have the privilege of
celebrating the New Passover.

1. Bruce Marshall, “What Is the Eucharist? A Dogmatic Outline,” in The Oxford Handbook

42
 This chapter’s treatment is guided by contemporary historical debates
on the nature of the early Christian liturgy. Did the early Christians cel-
ebrate the Eucharist in a way that consistently manifests a link with and
imitation of the Last Supper? Do we find a consistent memorial celebra-
tion of Christ’s Passion in the ancient liturgies, expressed in sacrificial
language, as Jesus did at the Last Supper? How much freedom did the
Church have in developing the liturgy? The first sections of this chapter
take up these issues. Then follows a systematic section, where I will inte-
grate the results of the historical study and our previous biblical analyses
within a scholastic framework, guided by the teaching of the ecumenical
councils. After proposing an overall theology of the Eucharist’s institu-
tion, I will turn to the more specific issue of the material signs of bread
and wine used for the Eucharist, from a biblical, historical, and theologi-
cal perspective.
The historical section of this chapter gives much attention to the use
of the institution narrative in the ancient liturgies. The aim of this study
is not to demonstrate that, throughout the Eucharistic prayers of the early
Church, this narrative constituted the sacramental “form” whereby bread
and wine become body and blood. Rather, this study seeks to trace the
early Church’s expression of the link between her Eucharistic practice
and the foundational event of the Last Supper. Hence, I will not look for
evidence of patristic theologies that posit the words of institution as the
effective means to change the gifts instantaneously: in most cases, such an
answer cannot be found.

Biblical and Historical Considerations

The ­First-Century Christians on the Institution
of the Eucharist
In the previous chapter, I mentioned that the New Testament accounts of
the Last Supper differ somewhat among themselves partly because they
already reflect the liturgical practice of various primitive Christian com-
munities. This practice developed under the guidance of the apostles, in

of Sacramental Theology, ed. Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2015), 505.

Th e I ns titution of t h e E uc h ar i s t 43
the age when revelation was still open. The Synoptics and 1 Corinthians
combine two elements: first, they recount Jesus’ historic deeds and words
on the night of the Last Supper, and second, they retell the words and
deeds of Jesus in a way that partly reflects the way the earliest Christian
communities celebrated the Last Supper in memory of Jesus.2 While we
cannot reconstruct the exact gestures and (Aramaic) words that Jesus
used, the Last Supper accounts present a consistent meaning that he com-
municated. The four accounts of the Last Supper can be divided into two
main strands of tradition: Paul recounts one established tradition, and it
is close to Luke, while Matthew and Mark have the most in common. In
chapter 1, we saw how John 6:51 links with this tradition, as it echoes the
words of institution: “the bread which I shall give for the life of the world
is my flesh.”
Thanks to consistent and multiple attestation, we can say that the his-
torical Jesus himself celebrated the Last Supper in a way very similar to the
New Testament accounts. Furthermore, the only substantial ­first-century
witness to the liturgy celebrated by the first two generations of Christians
is found in the four explicit Last Supper accounts and in John 6. For no
other New Testament reference to liturgy comes close to the amount
of detail offered here. The other key witness to the Eucharist of the first
Christians comes in the Book of Acts, as it recounts the “breaking of the
bread.” As Keener notes, the passages on the rite of breaking bread tell us
little, except that it occurred frequently, was linked to an agape meal, and
was celebrated in the homes of Christians.3
On the basis of these considerations and our analyses in chapters 1
and 2, we can draw the following conclusions. First, the ­first-century
Christians recognized that the Last Supper of Jesus was intended by him
as a liturgical ritual to be repeated in his memory. Like the first Passover,
the New Passover was to be celebrated as a memorial of Jesus’ exodus
to the Father. The first Christians knew that they were to “do this,” like

2. For the second point, see Maxwell E. Johnson, “The Apostolic Tradition,” in The Oxford
History of Christian Worship, ed. Geoffrey Wainwright and K. B. Westerfield Tucker (Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 2006), 44–46; Daniel Sheerin, “Eucharistic Liturgy,” in The Oxford Hand-
book of Early Christian Studies, ed. David G. Hunter and Susan Ashbrook Harvey (Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 2008), 713.
3. Craig S. Keener, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary, vol. 1, Introduction and 1:1–2:47 (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2012), 1003–4.

44 Th e In s titution of t h e E uc h ar i s t
Aaron and the Old Testament priests offering sacrifice. Second, the same
Christians were faithful to Jesus’ intention, so that the most basic words,
gestures, and material elements used in the ritual reflect Jesus’ example,
even as they manifest slight modifications. Indeed, we find no clear New
Testament evidence that the first Christians celebrated the Eucharist in
another way.
My approach to the theme of institution clashes with that of the li-
turgical historian Paul Bradshaw. He and other scholars have emphasized
the radical diversity of the early Christian liturgies. The idea is not wholly
objectionable, yet Bradshaw pushes it very far. Because of his influence, I
will devote some space to Bradshaw’s position. I will first take up his treat-
ment of Scripture and the ­second-century witnesses. The next section will
prolong my response to Bradshaw.
First, Bradshaw minimizes the Passover theme in fi ­ rst-century Chris-
tian worship. His doubts about the date and paschal nature of the Last
Supper are largely based on ­mid-twentieth-century biblical and liturgical
scholarship. My study above shows that such doubts are exaggerated.4
Second, Bradshaw holds that John the evangelist likely did not know
of an institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper, while the Eucharistic
passages of John 6:51–59 are probably the addition of a later redactor.5
But we saw above that John 6 has a strong literary unity: the idea that
verses 51–59 were inserted later is no longer tenable. Bradshaw sees the
omission of the Eucharist in John 13 as significant. Yet he fails to account
for three things. First, as Brown and Pitre have shown, the end of chapter
13 of John’s Gospel contains five allusions to a Passover ritual: (a) Jesus
and the disciples reclined instead of sitting ( Jn 13:23–25), (b) Jesus dipped
a morsel in a dish (13:26–27), (c) there was a custom of giving to the poor
at Passover (13:29), (d) the preparations for the meal took place just before
(13:29–30), and (e) the Last Supper took place at night (13:30).6 We find
4. Paul F. Bradshaw, “Worship in the New Testament” in The Search for the Origins of Chris-
tian Worship: Sources and Methods for the Study of Early Liturgy (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1992), 47–55. Similarly, Enrico Mazza holds that the Last Supper was not a Passover meal. This
mistake renders part of his overall narrative on the history of the early liturgy fragile. See his The
Celebration of the Eucharist: The Origin of the Rite and the Development of Its Interpretation, trans.
Matthew J. O’Connell (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1998), 25–26.
5. Paul F. Bradshaw, “Did Jesus Institute the Eucharist at the Last Supper?,” in Reconstructing
Early Christian Worship (London: SPCK, 2009), 3–4.
6. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John, vol. 2, Anchor Bible Commentary 29A

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 45
some echoes of the Last Supper in John 13, because it was a Passover meal.
John was not only aware of the Last Supper tradition, but also recognized
its importance. Second, nothing in the Synoptics matches the rich Eu-
charistic doctrine of John 6. This gives the fourth evangelist the liberty to
focus on other themes in chapter 13, especially given the foreshadowing of
the words of institution in verse 51. In other words, the (relative) silence
on the Eucharist in John 13–17 hardly demonstrates that John did not
consider Jesus’ last meal with his disciples to have been Eucharistic. Third,
as was noted previously, John and his readers in Asia Minor would have
been deeply aware of the Last Supper event through the Gospel of Mark
and the oral tradition. But Bradshaw takes the absence of evidence to in-
dicate the evidence of absence. This is a fundamental exegetical mistake.
Bradshaw’s third important move is to argue from the evidence in
­second-century Christian writers. He proposes that Ignatius of Antioch’s
description of the Eucharist as the flesh of Jesus (sarx) instead of body
(soma) suggests that Ignatius follows John but knows nothing of the Syn-
optic tradition. Furthermore, Bradshaw points out that Ignatius does not
directly describe the Eucharistic cup as Jesus’ blood.7 Yet John 6:51 pre-
cisely gives us a bridge between the Eucharistic sarx and the Last Supper
of Jesus. I already noted why John would prefer the language of flesh to
that of soma. In his study of Justin Martyr, Bradshaw signals the absence
of the language of the “breaking the bread.” Here, Bradshaw takes the
absence of an explicit reference to one part of the Last Supper ritual as
decisive, even though Justin clearly echoes one formulation of the words
of institution (more on that below). Finally, Bradshaw argues that, when
Irenaeus mentions the phrases “This is my body” and “he declared his
blood,” he betrays no awareness of the Last Supper or Passover setting for
these Eucharistic words.8 I will evaluate this last argument in the next
section.

(New York: Doubleday, 1970), 556, 576; Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper (Grand Rapids,
Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2015), 346.
7. Bradshaw, “Did Jesus Institute the Eucharist at the Last Supper?,” 5.
8. See Bradshaw, “Did Jesus Institute the Eucharist at the Last Supper?,” 7. He refers to Irenae-
us of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 4, chap. 17, no. 5, which I will cite below.

46 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
The Last Supper in the Second and ­Third-Century Liturgy:
The Didache, Justin Martyr and Irenaeus
Bradshaw and other historians appeal to an ancient work called the Di-
dache (or Teaching) as a witness to a primitive Eucharistic liturgy that
lacks an institution narrative. This collection of moral and liturgical
instructions dates to the late first or early second century. It may come
from Egypt or Syria.9 The work contains two possible references to the
Eucharistic liturgy: in chapters 9–10, and in chapter 14. Chapter 9 and
the first five verses of chapter 10 probably describe an agape meal that is
perhaps followed (at chapter 10, verse 6) by an introduction to the Eu-
charistic liturgy in the strict, sacramental sense of the term.10 Already in
chapter 9, the meal is described as a “eucharist.” The prayers mentioned
echo Jewish table blessings, which the Jews also called “eucharist” or
“thanksgiving.” The document insists that only the baptized may partake
of the meal. Similarly, festive Jewish meals restricted those who could
partake of it.11 In chapter 9 of the Didache, a blessing is said over a cup
before it is said over the bread, which is unusual, and again suggests an
agape. There are no references to the Last Supper or to Christ’s Passion.
Nor is it clear if the gifts shared are Christ’s body and blood. Chapter 10
begins with a prayer of thanksgiving for the meal just shared. Verse 6 gives
the following prayer, perhaps a transition in the ritual: “May grace come,
and may this world pass by. Hosanna to the God of David! If anyone is
holy, let him come. If anyone is not, let him repent. Maranatha! Amen.”
Then the author adds: “Allow the prophets, however, to give thanks as
much as they like.”12 An agape meal followed by a sacramental celebra-
tion would imitate the pattern described in 1 Corinthians 11. We learn
that the “prophets” can preside at this liturgy. While chapters 9–10 of the
Didache describe a weekday liturgy, chapter 14 speaks of a Sunday sac-

9. Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache: A Commentary, trans. Linda M. Maloney, Hermeneia:

A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1998), 52–54.
10. Willy Rordorf, introduction to La doctrine des douze apôtres (Didachè), ed. W. Rordorf
and André Tuilier, Sources Chrétiennes 248 (Paris: Cerf, 1978), 38–41; Niederwimmer, The Di-
dache: A Commentary, 142–43.
11. Willy Rordorf, Liturgie, foi et vie des premiers chrétiens: Études patristiques, Théologie his-
torique 75 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1986), 195–97.
12. Didache, 10.6–7. I use the edition of Niederwimmer, The Didache: A Commentary, 155.

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 47
ramental liturgy, where a bishop of the local church apparently presides
(he is mentioned just before and just after). Chapter 14 calls this Sunday
liturgy a sacrifice, but does not indicate the content of the Eucharistic
prayer.
Bradshaw and others appeal to chapter 9 of the Didache as a Eucharis-
tic celebration in the strict sense, without any reference to the Last Sup-
per, an interpretation that remains debatable. In fact, the text may con-
tain no more than a ­one-verse reference to a sacramental prayer, at the
end of chapter 10. Overall, the Didache does not offer a clear witness to
radical liturgical diversity in the second century.
St. Justin Martyr gives a summary account of the Eucharist in ­mid-
second-century Rome:
And this food is called among us eucharistia [thanksgiving], of which no one is
allowed to partake except one who believes that the things which we teach are
true, and has received the washing that is for the remission of sins and for rebirth,
and who so lives as Christ handed down. For we do not receive these things as
common bread and common drink; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Sav-
ior, having been made incarnate by God’s logos, took both flesh and blood for
our salvation, so also have we been taught that the food eucharistized through the
word of prayer that is from Him, from which our blood and flesh are nourished by
transformation, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who became incarnate. For
the apostles, in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, thus
handed down what was commanded them; that Jesus took bread, and having giv-
en thanks, said, “Do this for my memorial, this is my body;” and likewise, he took
the chalice and having given thanks said, “This is My blood.”13

Justin notes the essential conditions for receiving the Eucharist, namely,
acceptance of Christ’s teachings in faith, baptism, and right living. He
also reports a tradition that he has received, much as Paul does in 1 Cor-
inthians 11. Finally, Justin seems to link the presence of Christ’s body and
blood to “the word of prayer that is from Him,” meaning, from Christ.
This prayer is said over bread and wine, but which prayer might this be?
Just after discussing “the word of prayer” and the identity of the gifts,
Justin mentions the institution narrative at the Last Supper. His primary

13. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chap. 66, in First and Second Apologies, ed. and trans. Leslie
William Barnard, Ancient Christian Writers 56 (New York: Paulist Press, 1997), 70–71 (emphasis
added).

48 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i s t
intention is not to specify which prayer is uttered, but to show what kind
of gift is present on the altar. Scholars have noted that Justin’s recitation
of the Last Supper does not perfectly match either the Synoptic Gospels
or 1 Corinthians. This means that he probably reports the liturgical prac-
tice of his community.14 Further analysis by Othmar Perler supports this
judgment.15 He argues that the “word of prayer” should be seen in parallel
to the phrase “word of God,” found earlier in the passage just cited.16 That
is, Justin refers to both (1) the words of institution as the way in which the
presider gives thanks, and (2) the transformative power of Christ.17 The
liturgical prayer is a word or logos, a word uttered by the Incarnate Logos
at the Last Supper. It would seem that the word of prayer takes part in the
divine, creative power of God’s word. The doctrine of Christ as the Logos
with creative power stands at the heart of Justin’s theology.
This means that we are likely dealing with the beginnings of a Logos
epiclesis in the ­second-century Roman liturgy. This epiclesis is a prayer
addressed to the Logos asking for his descent into the gifts, similar to a
Spirit epiclesis that begs the Spirit to come down upon the gifts on the
altar during Mass. Justin is the first historical witness of a particular li-
turgical prayer directly addressed to the eternal Logos, a prayer that seeks
the descent of God’s power onto the gifts for their sanctification and con-
version. Notice also the striking parallel between the Incarnation of the
Logos and the change of bread and wine into the flesh and blood of the
Logos. Justin attributes the fructifying of Mary’s womb not so much to
the Holy Spirit as to the Logos (though we would say that it is both).

14. A theory held by G. J. Cuming, as noted by Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist, 110.
15. Othmar Perler, “Logos und Eucharistie nach Justinus I Apol. 66,” Freiburger Zeitschrift für
Philosophie und Theologie 18 (1940): 296–316. Bradshaw thinks that Justin probably ignores the
Last Supper tradition. Bradshaw never mentions the work of Perler (Bradshaw, “Did Jesus Institute
the Eucharist at the Last Supper?,” 6–7). Giraudo takes Justin’s omission of the words of institu-
tion in his direct description of the Eucharistic prayer as evidence of the absence of any institu-
tion. Cesare Giraudo, In unum corpus: Traité mystagogique sur l’eucharistie, trans. Éric Iborra and
­Pierre-Marie Hombert (Paris: Cerf, 2014), 260–62. This type of argument does not hold.
16. Perler, “Logos und Eucharistie,” 300–302.
17. Perler also compares the phrase “we have been taught that the food eucharistized through
the word of prayer that is from Him . . . is the flesh and blood,” with another, “the apostles . . . have
handed down what was commanded to them” concerning the memorial celebration of the Last
Supper (“Logos und Eucharistie,” 302). See also Ansgar Santogrossi, “Anaphoras without Insti-
tution Narrative: Historical and Dogmatic Considerations,” Nova et Vetera (English Edition) 10
(2012): 31.

Th e I n s titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 49
By analogy, the Logos brings to us his divine power, to change bread and
wine into flesh and blood.18 Overall, Justin is the most important, precise
witness to the Christian liturgy as celebrated in the second century.
In his Treatise Against Heresies, Irenaeus follows up a discussion of
Old Testament sacrifices with an explanation of the Christian Eucharist:
To his disciples also, he [the Lord] counseled to offer God the first fruits of his
own creatures, not that he had need of them, but that they might not be sterile
or ungrateful. He took the bread, which comes from creation, gave thanks say-
ing (Mt 26:26): “This is my body.” And likewise [he took] the cup, which comes
from creation, of which we are, and he declared it to be his blood and taught that
it [the cup] was the new oblation of the New Covenant. It is this very oblation
that the Church has received from the apostles, and which in the whole world
she offers to God who has given us nourishment, as the first fruits of God’s own
gifts, under the New Covenant.19

Against the Gnostics, who despise material creation and material sacri-
fices, Irenaeus holds for continuity between the Old and New Covenant:
both have an offering of the ­first-fruits of creation. Christ himself taught
his apostles how to make this offering. The Church receives the new obla-
tion directly from the apostles, who received it directly from Christ. Ire-
naeus marshals a typical argument against the Gnostics: the true Chris-
tians inherit the authentic tradition. The Church celebrates the Eucharist
according to the instructions of Jesus, as transmitted by the apostles.20
The reference to such instructions shows that Irenaeus does more than
offer a catechesis: he also reflects ­second-century liturgical practice. Final-
ly, in chapter 18 of the same work, Irenaeus considers Jesus to be person-
ally instituting a new sacrifice when he declares the bread to be his body
and the cup to be his blood in the new covenant. Irenaeus clearly evokes
the Last Supper as the Eucharist’s origin, in contrast to Bradshaw’s claim

18. Perler, “Logos und Eucharistie,” 303–8.

19. Irenaeus of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 4, chap. 17, no. 5. Translation by the author,
based on the critical edition in Irenaeus of Lyon, Contre les hérésies, livre IV, ed. Adelin Rousseau,
Sources chrétiennes 100.2 (Paris: Cerf, 1965), 590–93.
20. Helmut Moll, Die Lehre von der Eucharistie als Opfer (Cologne: Peter Hanstein, 1975),
168–69; Antonio Orbe, Teología de San Ireneo IV: Traducción y comentario del libro IV del “Adver-
sus haereses” (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 1986), 235–36.

50 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
mentioned above.21 Irenaeus’s insistence on the apostolic roots of the Eu-
charistic liturgy could not be stronger.
Valuable testimony about the ancient liturgy comes from the ­third-
century North African bishop and martyr, Cyprian of Carthage. In
“Letter 63,” Cyprian states that, in the liturgy, God has commanded the
Christians to do nothing else than what the Lord himself did at the Last
Supper.22 This applies even to details such as mixing water and wine in the
chalice. Furthermore, Cyprian states that the sacrifice of the Lord is not
legitimately celebrated if our oblation and our sacrifice do not correspond
to the Passion, that is, to the Last Supper.23 For Cyprian, the Last Supper
constitutes not just the origin of a sacred ritual, but the source of norms
for the correct use of bread and wine.24 The martyr shows that imitation
of the Lord’s Supper is an essential liturgical principle in t­hird-century
northern Africa.25 We will see that the oriental liturgical families will pro-
pose a different accent, without ever separating themselves from the Last
Supper tradition.

21. Antonio Orbe, Introduction à la théologie des IIe et IIIe siècles, trans. Joseph M. López de
Castro, Agnès Bastit, and J­ean-Michel Roessli, Patrimoines: Christianisme (Paris: Cerf, 2012),
vol. 1, 691–92.
22. Cyprian of Carthage, “Letter 63,” no. 2, in Cyprian of Carthage, Epistularium: Epistulae
58–81, ed. G. F. Diercks, CCSL 3C (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1996), 391, ll. 22–30. For an En-
glish edition, see Cyprian of Carthage, Letters 55–66, trans. G. W. Clarke, Ancient Christian Writ-
ers 46 (New York: Paulist Press, 1986).
23. Cyprian of Carthage, “Letter 63,” no. 9, in Epistularium, ed. Diercks, 400–401, ll. 141–160.
24. M
­ ichel-Yves Perrin, “Pratiques et discours eucharistiques dans les premiers siècles (des
origines jusqu’à la fin du IVe siècle): Considérations introductives,” in Eucharistia: Encyclopédie de
l’eucharistie, ed. Maurice Brouard (Paris: Cerf, 2002), 111.
25. Bradshaw maintains that Cyprian’s view presents an evolution in liturgical practice. The
Anglican scholar argues that (1) the New Testament was becoming authoritative Scripture in the
third century, thus overriding oral traditions, and (2) the threat of martyrdom called for a link be-
tween Jesus’ s­ elf-offering and the celebration of the Eucharist, so that it could be a source of strength
in times of persecution (Bradshaw, “Did Jesus Institute the Eucharist at the Last Supper?,” 10).
However, the New Testament was already authoritative with St. Irenaeus around a.d. 180, several
decades before Cyprian wrote. Finally, the link between the Eucharist and martyrdom can already
be found in the New Testament (see chapter 2). It is evident in the works of Ignatius of Antioch
and Polycarp in the early second century, long before Cyprian. See Luc de Bellescize, “L’eucharistie
chez Ignace d’Antioche et Polycarpe de Smyrne,” Nouvelle revue théologique 132 (2010): 197–216.
Bradshaw therefore fails to explain the shift. Indeed, if there was no such evolution, then there is no
need to account for a new teaching in Cyprian.

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 51
The Last Supper in the Liturgies of the
Third and Fourth Centuries
We now turn from the oldest ­post-biblical witnesses for the Eucharistic
liturgy to the oldest Eucharistic prayers (or anaphora). Here, the place of
the institution narrative will take center stage. Our attention turns mostly
to the east, source of the oldest anaphora.
An ancient witness that is often invoked as an example of a Eucharis-
­ id-third-century Apos-
tic liturgy without the words of institution is the m
tolic Tradition by Hippolytus. The liturgical scholar Enrico Mazza argues
that the text of the Apostolic Tradition includes two irreconcilable struc-
tures for the liturgy (meaning, it fuses two different traditions), of which
one has an institution narrative, while the other lacks that narrative.26 Let
us note that the version of the Apostolic Tradition that has come down
to us contains an institution narrative. Mazza thinks that this part of the
manuscript represents only one tradition behind the text. This proposal
remains very hypothetical.27 Also, scholars still dispute whether this text
reflects any actual liturgy of the third century.28
The Barcelona Papyrus dates from the middle of the fourth century. It
is the oldest manuscript that contains an entire Eucharistic prayer, which
gives the document immense historical importance. The text probably
comes from a Pachomian monastic community in Spain. It is not a copy
of a liturgical book, but a scholarly report of the community’s liturgical
practice.29 The Eucharistic prayer has multiple links with the character-
26. Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist, 52.
27. There would appear to be a parallel between some liturgists’ attempts to reconstruct the
sources of various ancient texts on the Eucharist with the nineteenth and twentieth century exe-
getical enterprise of reconstructing the written sources of the Pentateuch (the f­ our-source theory)
or of the Synoptic Gospels (the “Q document”). In recent decades, more and more exegetes have
recognized the highly tentative and fragile nature of such projects. Indeed, scholarly consensus on
the sources of the Pentateuch no longer exists, while efforts to reconstruct the whole of “Q” and
the belief of the hypothetical community that stands behind it have been met with more and more
skepticism in the academy. Liturgical studies would benefit from exercising similar caution and
skepticism when it comes to reconstructing hypothetical liturgical sources or claiming what these
sources did or did not contain.
28. Louis Bouyer, Eucharist: Theology and Spirituality of the Eucharistic Prayer, trans. Charles
Underhill Quinn (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), 168; Daniel G. Van
Slyke, “The Study of Early Christian Worship,” in T&T Clark Companion to Liturgy, ed. Alcuin
Reid (London: T&T Clark, 2016), 48.
29. Michael Zheltov, “The Anaphora and the Thanksgiving Prayer from the Barcelona Papyrus:

52 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
istics of p­ re-fourth-century liturgies. For example, the addressee switches
between God the Father and Jesus Christ, and the text once calls Jesus
“God’s child.” The prayer in the Barcelona Papyrus includes a threefold
structure that also was clearly practiced in Egypt in the fourth century:
sanctus, epiclesis, institution narrative (in that order). The latter reads
thus:
He Himself, when He was about to hand Himself, having taken bread and given
thanks, broke it and gave it to His disciples saying: “Take, eat, this is My body.”
Likewise after the supper, having taken a cup and given thanks, He gave it to
them saying: “Take, drink the blood, which is shed for many for remission of
sins.” And we also do the same in Your remembrance.30

The text does not mention the words “This is my blood,” but simply in-
vites those present to drink it. However, since this manuscript is not the
reproduction of a liturgical book but a discussion of the liturgy for theo-
logical purposes, there are likely some gaps in the text.31
Two other ancient Egyptian sources should be noted. The ­so-called
euchologion of Serapion, bishop of Thmuis (d. 359) contains the institu-
tion narrative. Between the blessing over the bread and the cup, it begs
God to gather the Church out of every land and people. This prayer
for unity, in imitation of the Didache, alludes to the multiplication of
the loaves. The text makes abundant use of the language of similitude
(homoiōma), which has the meaning of sacrament and memorial: the
Church offers the similitude of Christ’s body and blood, but also of his
death.32 Serapion thus accentuates the link with the Last Supper, which
is precisely a sacramental celebration of Christ’s death. After the insti-
tution narrative, the presider calls upon the Logos to descend upon the
gifts.33 Overall, Serapion posits a smooth link between the Last Supper
and John 6, makes frequent use of sacrificial language, and manifests be-
lief in the change of the gifts.
An Underestimated Testimony to the Anaphoral History in the Fourth Century,” Vigiliae Christi-
anae 62 (2008): 468–69, 497.
30. The translation is by Zheltov, “The Anaphora and the Thanksgiving Prayer,” 490–91.
31. Zheltov, “The Anaphora and the Thanksgiving Prayer,” 489–96, 502.
32. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 359–65.
33. Johannes Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter, vol. 1.1: Die Aktualpräsenz
der Person und des Heilswerkes Jesu im Abendmahl nach der vorephesinischen griechischen Patristik
(Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1955), 178–80.

Th e I n s titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 53
 Finally, we can mention the Liturgy of St. Mark, for which our ex-
tant text probably comes from after the year 380, shortly after the time of
Serapion. The Anaphora of Mark includes an institution narrative as well
as multiple references to sacrifice, especially in relation to the theme of
memorial. It is strongly influenced by 1 Corinthians.34
The Egyptian tradition, exemplified in the texts just discussed, was
one of the sources for the Roman liturgy. We have no complete text for
the Roman canon of the third or fourth centuries. We have only partial
witnesses to its content before the sixth century, for example, in the cat-
echesis of St. Ambrose of Milan.35 Ambrose witnesses to the Eucharistic
prayer in his diocese in the late fourth century. Not only is it very similar
to the later Roman canon (e.g. that of St. Gregory the Great), but the
prayer that Ambrose mentions was already close to the ­fourth-century
Roman canon and might even have drawn upon it as a source.36 The fol-
lowing comes from Ambrose’s On the Sacraments, likely composed about
380 or 390:
The priest speaks. He says: “Perform for us this oblation written, reasonable, ac-
ceptable, which is a figure of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. On the
day before He suffered He took bread in His holy hands, looked toward heaven,
toward you, holy Father omnipotent, eternal God, giving thanks, blessed, broke,
and having broken it gave it to the Apostles and His disciples, saying: ‘Take and
eat of this, all of you; for this is my body, which shall be broken for many.’” Take
note. “Similarly, also on the day before He suffered, after they had dined, He took
the chalice, looked toward heaven, toward thee, holy Father omnipotent, eternal
God and giving thanks He blessed it, and gave it to the Apostles and His disci-
ples, saying: ‘Take and drink of this, all of you; for this is my blood.’”37

34. Bouyer, Eucharist, 192, 212–13.

35. D. M. Hope, “The Medieval Western Rites,” in The Study of the Liturgy, rev. ed., ed. Ches-
lyn Jones, Geoffrey Wainwright, Edward Yarnold and Paul Bradshaw (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1992), 267.
36. Uwe Michael Lang, “Rhetoric of Salvation: The Origins of Latin as the Language of the
Roman Liturgy,” in The Genius of the Roman Rite: Historical, Theological, and Pastoral Perspectives
on Catholic Liturgy, ed. U. M. Lang (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2009), 29; Hans Bernhard
Meyer, Eucharistie: Geschichte, Theologie, Pastoral, Gottesdienst der Kirche 4 (Regensburg: Fried­
rich Pustet, 1989), 114.
37. Ambrose of Milan, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 5, nos. 21–22, in Ambrose of Milan, Theo-
logical and Dogmatic Works, trans. Roy Deferrari, The Fathers of the Church 44 (Washington,
D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1963).

54 Th e In s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
The liturgies of Milan and Rome placed great emphasis on the institution
narrative, especially by adding various details about Christ’s gestures to
that narrative.38
It is likely that all third- and f­ ourth-century Eucharistic prayers known
to us contained an institution narrative, with the possible exception of
Addai & Mari. These include Addai and Mari’s liturgical cousins Sha-
rar and Theodore (I discuss all three anaphora below), book eight of the
Apostolic Constitutions, the Anaphora of St. James, the Anaphora of St.
Basil, and the Anaphora of St. John Chrysostom.39 Let us note that the
inclusion of the institution narrative does not constitute proof that it was
considered a sufficient prayer (or complete sacramental form) to effect the
change of the gifts. Rather, it manifests an awareness that the Last Supper
was the foundational event for the Eucharist: the liturgy is a renewal of the
memorial that Christ himself celebrated.

The Rite of Addai and Mari: A Eucharist without

the Institution Narrative?
I now come to the most debated ancient Eucharistic prayer, Addai and
Mari, used by the Assyrian Church of the East, a community that lost full
communion with the West following the Council of Ephesus in 431.40
That rupture was caused by poor communication rather than heresy, as
the Assyrian community was no longer within the borders of the Byzan-
tine empire. The anaphora belongs to the Eastern Syrian liturgical family.
At least in its modern form, it has no institution narrative. The Chaldean
Catholics, who have been in communion with Rome for centuries, also
pray the Addai and Mari, but with an explicit institution narrative. In
2001, with the approval of John Paul II, the Pontifical Council for Pro-
moting Christian Unity recognized the use of the Addai and Mari with-
out an institution narrative in the Assyrian Church of the East.41
38. Another witness that could be invoked here is Cyril of Jerusalem. Edward J. Yarnold ex-
plains why one cannot appeal to Cyril as a reliable witness to a Eucharistic Prayer that lacked an
institution narrative. On the contrary, it seems more likely that he employed that narrative. See
Yarnold’s essay, “Anaphoras without Institution Narratives?,” Studia Patristica 30 (1997): 401–6.
39. See Meyer, Eucharistie: Geschichte, Theologie, Pastoral, 108–9, 138–39.
40. William Macomber, “The Ancient Form of the Anaphora of the Apostles,” in East of
Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, ed. Nina Gargoian, Thomas Mathews and
Robert Thomson (Washington, D.C.: Centre for Byzantine Studies, 1982), 79–80.
41. The English text of the Guidelines of “Admission to the Eucharist between the Chaldean

Th e I ns titution of t h e E uc h ar i s t 55
 The oldest manuscripts of Addai and Mari go back to the tenth centu-
ry. Scholars have attempted to reconstruct earlier versions of the rite, but
we do not know its exact content in the first few centuries.42 In recent
decades, a majority of liturgists, including Robert Taft and Nicholas Rus-
so, have argued that Addai and Mari prayer is a major ancient witness to a
Eucharistic liturgy without the institution narrative.
The text of the anaphora contains scattered allusions to the institu-
tion narrative, but the words of institution are not found together in one
place. Here is the heart of the prayer, preceded by the line numbers of the
critical edition:
51  And we also, O my Lord, thy unworthy, frail and miserable servants, who
are gathered [in thy name] and stand before thee,
52 and have received by tradition the example which is from thee,
53 rejoicing and glorifying and exalting and commemorating
54 and celebrating this great and awesome mystery
55 of the passion and death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.43

There are several arguments that, in ancient practice, the institution nar-
rative was not used in Addai and Mari. First, all the manuscripts for this
liturgy are missing the words of institution. Now liturgical texts usual-
ly contain markers at places where secret prayers are to be inserted from
memory, but we seem to have no such indications for an institution nar-
rative.44 Second, it is perplexing how the use of this narrative would have
disappeared in recent centuries, if it was originally present. Third, the lack
of an institution narrative is said to prolong or mirror a similar lacuna
that was commonly found in the Eucharistic liturgy of the first three cen-
turies (one supposedly also reflected in the Didache).45 This last argument

Church and the Assyrian Church of the East” by the Pontifical Council for Christian Unity is
found at: www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_councils/chrstuni/documents/­rc_pc_chrstuni_
doc_20011025_chiesa-caldea-assira_en.html.
42. Uwe Michael Lang, “Eucharist without Institution Narrative? The Anaphora of Addai
and Mari Revisited,” in Die Anaphora von Addai und Mari: Studien zu Eucharistie und Einset-
zungsworten, ed. Uwe Michael Lang (Bonn: Nova & Vetera, 2007), 31–37.
43. Anthony Gelston, The Eucharistic Prayer of Addai and Mari (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1992), 55. I give the line numbers from Gelston’s edition.
44. Nicholas Russo, “The Validity of the Anaphora Addai and Mari: Critiques of the Cri-
tique,” in Issues in Eucharistic Praying in East and West: Essays in Liturgical and Theological Analy-
sis, ed. Maxwell E. Johnson (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 2010), 37–39.
45. Russo, “The Validity,” 27. Russo’s reading of the Didache contradicts the analysis of Rordorf

56 Th e In s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
is the weakest, as it is mostly based on hypothetical reconstructions of the
sources for surviving liturgical texts.
One can mention four arguments in favor of the thesis that, from ear-
ly on and over many subsequent centuries, the words of institution were
part of an oral tradition and were added by the celebrant from memory.
First, the main paragraph of Addai and Mari begins in an odd way: “And
we also O my Lord” (line 51). This sentence also lacks a verb, which may
suggest a deliberate lacuna in the text. This would be an ideal place to add
a memorized phrase. Also, the subsequent lines contain terms such has
“having received by tradition” and “commemorating,” which likely evoke
1 Corinthians 11 and its account of the Last Supper.46
Second, the last phrase of the main paragraph of the Eucharistic
prayer (lines 51–55) parallels the conclusion of the heart of another major
Eucharistic prayer in the ancient eastern Syrian tradition, called Theodore
(attributed to Theodore of Mopsuestia). The institution narrative directly
precedes the conclusion of that section in Theodore.47 Perhaps Theodore
preserved in writing what Addai and Mari possessed by oral tradition.48
Third, Addai and Mari bears strong resemblances to the Eucharistic
prayer of the ancient Maronite rite, called the Third Anaphora of St. Pe-
ter, or Sharar. Addai and Mari and Sharar may share a common ances-
tor, one that predates the Council of Ephesus.49 Interestingly, Sharar does
have an institution narrative. It comes at the part of the Eucharistic prayer
that is very similar to Addai and Mari (before line 47 in the critical edi-

and Niederwimmer, which I employed above (Russo, “The Validity,” 27–28). Yarnold rightly recalls
the highly fragmentary nature of ­pre-fourth-century liturgical texts (“Anaphoras without Institu-
tion Narratives?,” 395–410).
46. These arguments were proposed by Bernard Botte. See Russo, “The Validity,” 44–45.
47. Stephen B. Wilson, “The Anaphora of the Apostles Addai and Mari,” in Essays on Early
Eastern Eucharistic Prayers, ed. Paul F. Bradshaw (Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 1997),
23–24, 34.
48. Bouyer, Eucharist, 151–52. In fact, the Chaldean Catholic Church preserves three ancient
anaphora: (1) Addai and Mari (or the Anaphora of the Apostles), still used today, with the words
of institution; (2) Theodore; and (3) and Nestorius. The latter two prayers date from the late fourth
or early fifth centuries, and each includes the institution narrative. Interestingly, ancient liturgical
commentators such as Narsai give no indication that Theodore and Nestorius have innovated in
using the words of institution. See Missel chaldéen: L’ordre des mystères avec les trois anaphores, selon
le rite de la sainte Eglise de l’Orient, ed. Francis Alichoran and P. Perrier (Paris: Eglise chaldéenne,
1982), 12, 16–17, 82–83.
49. Macomber, “The Ancient Form,” 79–80.

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 57
tion).50 Thus, Addai and Mari has two cousins, and both have an institu-
tion narrative.
Fourth, there is some modern evidence of this kind of insertion from
memory. In the nineteenth century, Chaldean Catholic priests who cele-
brated the Addai and Mari rite told Anglican missionaries that the institu-
tion narrative was always said from memory, and thus was part of the lived
rite.51 Their report of the place of insertion matches well with the clues
that Gabriel of Qatraya, a ­seventh-century Syrian commentator on the lit-
urgy, seems to give on the place of the institution narrative in the rite.52
Where does this leave us? The historical question remains open. Still,
a word of caution is in order: while, today, many historians of the liturgy
maintain that the ancient rite of Addai and Mari had no institution nar-
rative, fifty years ago, the majority of liturgists (including Louis Bouyer)
held the exact opposite opinion.53
Beyond the issue of the words of institution, other features of Addai
and Mari should be indicated. Before the passage cited above, the prayer
mentions the memorial of Christ’s body and blood, which are offered
on a pure and holy altar. This memorial is celebrated as God has taught,
a teaching transmitted by the forefathers in the faith. By tradition, the
“figure” has been received, a reference to the body and blood present in
sacramental mode.54 The entire Paschal Mystery is the object of the me-
morial: The Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. Then follows an
epiclesis, asking the Spirit to bless and sanctify the oblation. Thus, Addai
and Mari appeals to revelation as the source of the Eucharist, received by
tradition. The sacrificial language is clear, while the theme of memorial
tends to dominate. Hence, even considered without the institution nar-
rative, Addai and Mari manifests a strong awareness of the Last Supper as
the origin of the Eucharist.

50. Russo, “The Validity,” 45.

51. Santogrossi, “Anaphoras without Institution Narrative,” 44.
52. Lang, “Eucharist without Institution?,” 61. We might also note a general feature of early
Christian liturgical practice that provides an important principle in the interpretation of ancient
witnesses and texts on the liturgy: before the fourth century, celebrants regularly recited parts of
the Eucharistic prayer from memory (see Sheerin, “Eucharistic Liturgy,” 716). Bouyer notes that
ancient liturgical manuscripts without the words of institution are legion, yet we know from vari-
ous sources that the very same rites did include those words (Eucharist, 152).
53. Bouyer, Eucharist, 151–52.
54. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 355–56.

58 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i s t
Scripture and Early Tradition on the Institution
of the Eucharist: A Summary
We can now synthesize what Scripture and the witnesses of the first four
centuries tell us about the institution of the Eucharist, directly or indi-
rectly. First, the Scriptures, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, and Cyprian, as well
as each of the early Eucharistic prayers mentioned above, recognize that
the Eucharistic ritual that they celebrate has its historical origin with Je-
sus of Nazareth. Second, the same sources identify this origin with the
Last Supper. The Synoptic Gospels, 1 Corinthians, Irenaeus, and Cyprian
are most explicit on this matter. Yet even Addai and Mari has references
to the Last Supper. Third, our sources recognize that Christ determined
some of the specific elements for celebrating the Eucharist.
We can recognize Christ’s intention of instituting the following ele-
ments as part of the Eucharistic liturgy. First, Jesus instituted the New
Passover for the Church. The Synoptic accounts, Paul, and later witnesses
(such as Irenaeus) testify to this. This also means that Christ established
a sacrifice (as a memorial celebration of the Passion): the allusion to sac-
rifice is strong in the Last Supper accounts. Irenaeus saw this beautifully,
while Serapion makes abundant use of sacrificial language in his version
of the institution narrative.55 Second, the most radically new aspect of
the ritual is that Jesus’ body and blood now take the place of the Pass-
over lamb. Of course, this calls for a transformation of the gifts. In other
words, the Eucharist exceeds the miracle of the Old Testament manna ( Jn
6), and is not unlike the Incarnation of the Son of God in Mary’s womb
( Justin Martyr). The anaphora consistently point to a mysterious change
of the gifts. I will take up that issue again in the chapter on Eucharistic
presence. Third, all of the fi­ rst-century evidence points to the inclusion
of the words of institution in the liturgy celebrated by the first Chris-
tians, whose prayers are echoed in the slightly different New Testament
versions of the Last Supper. The ancient anaphora also consistently use
the institution narrative, while Addai and Mari (at the very least) makes
allusions to the Last Supper event. Appeal to other Eucharistic prayers
in antiquity that supposedly lacked an institution narrative is based on

55. Chapter 5 will include a study of sacrificial language in other Eucharistic prayers.

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 59
fragmentary evidence or the hypothetical reconstruction of sources for
actual liturgical documents. Fourth, like the Passover, the Church has a
sacred obligation to continue this celebration: “do this in memory of me.”
Two of the biblical witnesses explicitly mention this, yet all the New Tes-
tament accounts of the Last Supper reflect the liturgical practices of their
respective communities. Irenaeus and Cyprian clearly saw the importance
of continuing this memorial. The command to celebrate the memorial fits
perfectly with the Passover setting. Fifth, the command involves no me-
chanical repetition.56 For example, already in the first century, Christians
celebrated the New Passover without a lamb, and did so not annually but
frequently. The manner of celebration was to follow the apostolic tradi-
tion, which continues to be handed down, an emphasis found especially
in Irenaeus and in Addai and Mari.57

A Systematic Theology of the Institution

of the Eucharist
Scripture, several early Church Fathers, and the oldest Eucharistic Prayers
thus give valuable indications of Christ’s work of instituting a sacrament
at the Last Supper. My next step is to take a brief look at the theology of
the institution of sacraments. Here, I take a scholastic approach rooted in
medieval theology and confirmed by the Councils of Florence and Trent.
I take up a systematic view, that is, an organized view of particular theo-
logical themes that seeks to integrate Scripture, liturgical practice, and
the teaching of the councils, popes, and great theologians.

56. Later theologians understood this well. See, for example, Thomas Aquinas, Commentary
on the Sentences, bk. 4, d. 8, q. 1, a. 4, quaestincula 1, ad 1, in Commentary on the Sentences, Book IV,
Distinctions 1–13, trans. Beth Mortensen, Latin/English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aqui-
nas 7 (Green Bay, Wisc.: Aquinas Institute, 2017), 346.
57. The recent statement on the unity of Catholic-Lutheran Eucharistic doctrine by a Ger-
man ecumenical working group bases much of its proposal on historical claims of differing and
partly contradictory traditions in the New Testament witness to ancient Eucharistic celebrations,
differences that the document traces into the first centuries of the Church, partly by relying on the
Didache, chapter 9 (105). The ecumenical paper goes well beyond the historical data as it bases its
ecclesial and pastoral program on debatable scholarly hypotheses. See Volker Leppin and Dorothea
Sattler, eds., Together at the Lord’s Table: A Votum of the Ecumenical Working Group of Lutheran
and Catholic Theologians (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2020), 89–105.

60 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
General Principles for a Theology of the
Sacrament’s Institution
I begin with some general principles of the institution of the sacraments,
so that we can more fruitfully consider the institution of the Eucharist.
First, sacraments are means of grace, and grace is a gift of God. Therefore,
only God can institute sacraments: only the giver of grace determines the
means of grace.58 Now Catholic theologians ancient and modern, from
east and west, continue to debate the meaning of grace. Yet the Catholic
understanding is that we are dealing especially with an intrinsic transfor-
mation of the human being that is beyond the order of nature (the east
prefers to speak of divinization). Second, the Eucharist’s institution comes
through a revelation. For some sacraments, this revelation emerged espe-
cially in tradition and only vaguely in Scripture, as the Church reflected
over the centuries on the order inscribed within God’s plan of salvation
(e.g., Paul’s teaching on the spousal bond between Christ and his Church
implies the sacramentality of Christian matrimony). Other sacraments
(especially baptism) were instituted through a more explicit revelation
of Christ and transmitted by the apostles. Third, to institute a sacrament
does not always mean determining the specific rite to be used. For exam-
ple, Jesus need not have instructed the apostles to ordain priests by lay-
ing hands on the candidate and then saying a prayer of ordination.59 It is
one thing to institute a sacrament, it is another to fix the precise words
and material sign used. Here, we must distinguish between the substance
of a sacrament and its outward expression, between the meaning and the
expression of meaning, between signification and particular signs that are
the vehicles or means of signification.60 I will come back to this distinction
shortly. Fourth, the Church’s power over the sacrament is limited.61 As the
Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (Sacrosanctum Concilium) states, “the
liturgy is made up of unchangeable elements divinely instituted, and of el-

58. Bernard Leeming, Principles of Sacramental Theology (London: Longmans, 1956), 385.
59. Leeming, Principles of Sacramental Theology, 416, 421.
60. This distinction was especially developed by the ­seventeenth-century theologian John of
­Saint-Thomas. See ­Jean-Philippe Revel, Traité des sacrements, vol. 1, Baptême et sacramentalité, part
1: Origine et signification du baptême (Paris: Cerf, 2004), 148.
61. Leeming, Principles of Sacramental Theology, 397, 417.

Th e I n s titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 61
ements subject to change.”62 The Church can determine and make explicit
the sacramental forms only implicitly contained in the New Testament.63
Here, the Church can determine the signs, but not the signification. The
latter needs to have its foundation in Christ’s revelatory work.64 A sac-
rament’s signification is instituted by Christ, even if that institution was
only recognized after many centuries of reflection on revelation. However,
Jesus’ use of a sign does not, in and of itself, indicate that he intended to
determine that sign as the sacramental form of the whole Church.
Let us return to the third principle mentioned above. The distinction
between signification and signs helps us to understand how Jesus insti-
tuted the Eucharist, what he determined and what he left undetermined.
This will also allow us to account for the legitimate diversity found among
the various venerable liturgical rites.
By the term signification, I refer to a meaning that is to be communi-
cated. When that meaning is expressed through a sign that is apt to ex-
press it, then (given other factors) we have a sacrament that effects what
it signifies. The baptismal formula joined to the pouring of water over the
forehead expresses the meaning that the Trinity is saving and purifying
the person being baptized. Signification is universal: it can be transmitted
to all cultures. It therefore transcends any particular language.
Words and gestures are vehicles for signification. Words joined to ges-
tures such as the act of pouring water over the forehead of a catechumen
are a means to indicate meaning. The sacramental signs are a synthesis or
unity of these parts: word and gesture. In the case of the Eucharist, the
gesture is performed with material gifts. We can recall Augustine’s famous
phrase: “The word is added to the elemental substance, and it becomes a
sacrament.”65 The signification occurs through what are called the form
and matter of a sacrament. Form and matter are a composite sign that

62. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 21.

63. ­Perrin, L’institution des sacrements dans le Commentaire des Sentences de saint Thomas, Bi-
bliothèque de la Revue Thomiste (Paris: Parole et Silence, 2008), 388, 591.
64. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 60, a. 7, ad 1; Edward Schillebeeckx, L’économie
sacramentelle du salut, trans. Yvon van der Have, Studia Friburgensia 95 (Fribourg, Switzerland:
Academic Press, 2004), 312.
65. Augustine, tractate 80, no. 3, in Tractates on the Gospel of John, 55–111, trans. John W. Ret-
tig, The Fathers of the Church 90 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1994), 117. The doctrine of sacramental form and matter is a development of patristic theology. See
Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 290–304.

62 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i s t
expresses a sacramental intention. The words uttered by the right minis-
ter with the proper intention are the form, while the gesture done is the
matter (e.g., taking bread and wine). The sign is attained only by joining
these together.66
Our consideration of the s­ ignification-sign distinction, form and mat-
ter, and related themes gives insight on how the institution of the sac-
raments works. It gives us a framework for the historical portion of our
study, while that history in turn brings content to the framework. The
witnesses to the Eucharist’s historical origin in Jesus’ celebrating the Last
Supper with his disciples show us the divine origin we need if the Eucha-
rist is to be a means whereby grace is given. Jesus intentionally instituted a
new ritual, a New Passover. The Last Supper’s many references to his com-
ing death show that he instituted a memorial celebration of his sacrifice
on the Cross. He instituted the gift of his very self, his body and blood: a
sacrament, that is, a visible means of grace. He intended this ritual to be
continued in the Church, and the Church understood this. We will soon
see that history also supports the claim that Jesus intended to institute the
matter of bread and wine for the Eucharist.
Did Christ establish the words of institution as the sacramental form,
as the means to change bread and wine into body and blood? Based on
our study above, we cannot give a definitive answer. First, with the ex-
ception of Ambrose and the liturgical tradition of the west (to be studied
again in chapter 7), it is not clear whether the early Church Fathers and
anaphora employed the institution narrative with the particular intention
of converting the gifts by that precise prayer and in that moment. Second,
the possible absence of the institution narrative in the ancient practice of
Addai and Mari would argue against the institution of this specific form
by Christ. Third, Trent deliberately refused to define whether Christ
changed bread and wine at the Last Supper with these words or by some
other means.67 That omission signals the need for caution.
However, in uttering the words of institution, Christ did establish
the signification, or essential meaning, of the sacrament of the Eucharist.
These words show that he gives his very body and blood, that he gives

66. Leeming, Principles of Sacramental Theology, 409, 417; Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacra-
mentelle du salut, 310–12.
67. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 552.

Th e I n s titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 63
them in a sacrificial mode (as he prophetically signifies the separation of
his body and blood at Calvary), and that this sacrifice is inseparable from
his offering on the Cross. The Church’s task is to determine the form and
matter (or specific words and gestures) that aptly express the signification
established by Christ for the Eucharist. This is precisely what the Council
of Florence did in the fifteenth century for the Latin Church (as we will
see in chapter 7).
The Council of Trent has left us a teaching on the institution of the
Eucharist. In her Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist (from the year
1551), Trent taught that Christ instituted the Eucharist at the Last Sup-
per. He becomes truly present in these gifts after his blessing.68 In the
Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass (from the year 1562), Trent proclaims
that, at the Last Supper, Jesus instituted a sacrifice.69 The Council also
teaches that Jesus instituted the apostles as priests at the Last Supper by
saying, “Do this in memory of me.” He thus ordered them to perpetuate
his sacrifice.70 Finally, Vatican II reaffirms that, at the Last Supper, Christ
instituted the Eucharistic sacrifice.71

The Material Signs Used for the Eucharist

Jesus instituted the Eucharist as spiritual nourishment for God’s people.
He gave the Church particular signs of this nourishment, in fulfillment of
Old Testament figures of the Eucharist. Scripture and the early liturgical
tradition manifest the institution of the signs of bread and wine. We will
study their significance and also consider the divergent eastern and west-
ern uses of leavened and unleavened bread.
In ancient Palestine, bread was the basic daily food, and wheat bread
was the most common type of cereal.72 We have seen that the Last Sup-
per was a Passover meal. Perhaps starting with the reform brought by the
Book of Deuteronomy, Passover was closely bound to the Feast of Un-

68. Chapters 1–2, DH 1636–38.

69. Chapter 1, DH 1740. For an excellent study of Trent and the Eucharist, see Florent Urfels,
Pâque du Messie: Introduction à une théologie eucharistique du judaïsme, Collège des Bernardins 20
(Paris: Parole et Silence, 2013), 358–59.
70. Canon 2, DH 1752.
71. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 47; see also no. 7.
72. Roger Gaïse, Les signes sacramentels de l’éucharistie dans l’église latine: Études théologiques
et historiques, Studia Friburgensia 89 (Fribourg, Switzerland: Éditions universitaires, 2001), 48–49.

64 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
leavened Bread. This feast occurred at the beginning of the barley harvest,
when the new bread was consumed. Matthew and Mark report that the
Last Supper happened on the first day of the Feast of Unleavened Bread.
Some scholars hold that Jesus and the apostles could have eaten barley
bread at the Last Supper.73 The mingling of the two feasts (Passover and
Unleavened Bread) and the uncertainty about how these feasts were
fused in practice in the time of Jesus entail the following consequence:
we cannot say with absolute historical certitude whether Jesus used wheat
bread at the Last Supper.74 However, from a strictly historical perspective,
it is very probable that Jesus used wheat bread. For the Synoptic and Pau-
line accounts of the Last Supper all refer to the bread with the Greek term
artos.75 In everyday ­first-century Greek (koine), the term artos usually re-
ferred to wheat bread.76
The early tradition confirms the widespread if not universal liturgical
use of wheat bread. First, we find no evidence of any common use of bar-
ley bread for the Eucharist in the early Church. Second, the early Church
controversies about the kind of food and drink used at the liturgy concern
items such as cheese, wine, and water, but not the type of bread. Third,
whenever early Christian authors refer to the Eucharistic food, they speak
of artos. Here, we can cite chapter 14 of the Didache and Justin Martyr’s
First Apology.77 Irenaeus refers to the offering of “wheat and grape, bread
and wine” as he discusses the sacrifice of the New Covenant.78 Later on,
Augustine speaks of the common use of wheat bread for the Eucharist.79
At ancient Jewish feasts, wine was always consumed, whereas water was
drunk at other meals, at least by the poor. Jesus certainly drank wine at
the Passover. We saw that the Eucharistic cup may have been the third cup

73. See Gaïse, Les signes sacramentels, 52–54, 58.

74. ­Bertrand-Marie Perrin, L’institution des sacrements, 392.
75. Mt 26:26, Mk 14:22, Lk 22:19, 1 Cor 11:23–24.
76. Ángel García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero: Trattato ­storico-dogmatico sul mistero eu-
caristico, Sussidi di teologia (Rome: EDUSC, 2006), 493.
77. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chap. 67, nos. 3–5; For an overview, see García Ibáñez, L’euca-
ristia, dono e mistero, 494.
78. Irenaeus of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 4, chap. 17, no. 5; Orbe, Introduction à la
théologie, 1:697, 724.
79. Augustine, Sermon 227. See the collection, Augustine, Sermons (184–229Z) on the
Liturgical Seasons, trans. Edmund Hill, Works of St. Augustine 3.6 (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City
Press, 1993).

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 65
of wine in the Passover ritual.80 The wine was mixed with water, so as to
make its consumption more pleasant (pure wine still had grains).
Apocryphal literature from the second and third centuries shows that
some communities seem to have celebrated the Eucharist without wine,
meaning, only with bread (see the Acts of John, Acts of Andrew, and Acts
of Thomas). These texts are apocryphal, because they incorrectly claim
to have an apostle as their author or as their main source. Some of these
are Gnostic works that promoted various doctrinal errors. This minority
practice seems to have continued in some regions through the sixth cen-
tury. This explains why the Council of Hippo in 393 and the Council of
Orleans in 541 forbid Eucharistic celebrations without wine.81 Another
group in early Christianity celebrated the Eucharist with bread and water,
hence their name “The Aquarians.” The ­late-second-century Alexandrian
writer Clement of Alexandria and the t­hird-century bishop Cyprian of
Carthage mention and reject this practice.82
Here, the witness of Cyprian is crucial. In “Letter 63,” he states that
God has commanded Christians to preserve the tradition of Jesus in their
manner of offering the chalice. They are to do nothing else than what the
Lord himself did at the Last Supper, that is, to offer wine mixed with wa-
ter, an offering performed in his memory (a practice already attested by
Justin Martyr).83 There is no offering of the blood of Christ if there is no
wine in the chalice. The sacrifice of the Lord is not legitimately celebrated
if our oblation and sacrifice do not correspond to the Passion, that is, to
the Last Supper.84
The use of wine at Mass has been the standard practice since antiquity.
We find references to the use of bread and wine of the grape all through
the ancient liturgical families. The Church Fathers confirm this. The same
practice continued through the medieval and modern eras. The Council
of Florence, in its Decree for the Armenians (Exsultate Deo), determined
that the matter or essential material sign of the Eucharist are wheat bread

80. Gaïse, Les signes sacramentels, 59–60; A. Bride, “Vin de Messe,” Dictionnaire de théologie
catholique, ed. É. Amann, vol. 15 (Paris: L. Letouzey et Âne, 1950), col. 1315.
81. Gaïse, Les signes sacramentels, 68–72.
82. ­Perrin, L’institution des sacrements, 111–12.
83. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chapter 65.
84. Cyprian of Carthage, “Letter 63,” nos. 2, 9.

66 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
and wine of the grape.85 The same Council accepted the use of leavened
bread by the east. In her Decree for the Greeks (Laetentur caeli), Florence
insists that each Church should follow her own venerable custom.86
As we consider the Eucharistic signification of bread and wine, we fo-
cus on the species or natural identity of the gifts, and not their pure chem-
ical constitution. That is, we are dealing with fruits of the earth whose na-
ture remains intact even if a small amount of other natural products (e.g.,
other grains) is mingled with them.87 We are also dealing with man’s har-
vest of nature’s gift brought before God.
Bread and wine signify common, daily nourishment. They are associ-
ated with feasting, with banquets of fraternal and familial communion.
They can signify the unity of those who partake of them: “Because there
is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one
bread” (1 Cor 10:17). As Augustine explains, “even as men of God knew
this before us, our Lord, Jesus Christ, manifested his body and blood in
those things which are reduced from many to some one thing. For the
one is made into one thing from many grains, the other flows together
into one thing from many grapes.”88 The many grains in one bread repre-
sent the unity of many believers, as the many grapes in one cup signify the
same unity. Bread can be sweet, like manna in the desert. The use of bread
evokes Jesus’ appropriation of the manna imagery in John 6:35: “I am the
bread of life.” Wine can inebriate, signifying spiritual joy and ecstasy. The
separate use of bread and wine (in the separate consecration) can also sig-
nify Christ’s death, where the liquid signifies his blood separated from his
body. Bread and wine are frequently found in Old Testament sacrifices,
as in cereal offerings (Lv 7:9–14) and burnt offerings (Nm 28:11–14). Or
again, in Genesis 14:17–18, Melchizedek offered bread and wine in sacri-
fice. The Letter to the Hebrews (chapter 7) links this mysterious figure
with Christ and his priesthood.
We know that, from at least the time of Cyprian of Carthage, the
mingling of water and wine, while not absolutely necessary for the valid-

85. Council of Florence, Decree for the Armenians, DH 1320.

86. Council of Florence, Decree for the Greeks, DH 1303.
87. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 74, a. 3, ad 3.
88. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, 11–27, tractate 26, no. 17.

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 67
ity of the Eucharist, communicates a rich meaning.89 This gesture recalls
that water and blood flowed from Christ’s side on the Cross, and thus sig-
nifies his Passion, as well as the unity of the sacrifice of the Cross with the
sacrifice of the Mass. The water also symbolizes the people, whose unity
with Christ is signified by the mixing of water into wine.90 The offertory
prayer in the Roman rite recalls that the Son’s taking on of our nature
enables us to share in his divine nature. This participation in divine life
comes especially through the Eucharistic liturgy.
The western practice of using unleavened bread draws its inspiration
from the Synoptic Gospels. It recognizes the Last Supper as a Passover
meal. However, in antiquity, the west also often used leavened bread,
without controversy. But starting around the ninth century, the west has
consistently used unleavened bread. The east has often preferred leav-
ened bread.91 One reason is the eastern tendency to follow the appar-
ent chronology of John’s Gospel instead of that of the Synoptic accounts.
From this perspective, Jesus would have anticipated the Passover meal,
and thus celebrated it before the Feast of Unleavened Bread began. So,
since ancient times liturgical families in both east and west seem to have
used both types of bread.92 All of this illumines a theology of the insti-
tution of the Eucharist. Widespread and ancient diversity in the use of
leavened and unleavened bread, a historical phenomenon that provoked
no controversy until the early Middle Ages, manifests the Church’s con-
sciousness that the use or exclusion of leaven was not part of Christ’s
intention for the institution of this sacrament, even if, historically, Jesus
used unleavened bread. The Eucharist’s institution is not about a mechan-
ical imitation of the Last Supper. In the Middle Ages, an unfortunate dis-
pute arose about this issue. Yet east and west lived in peace with a legiti-
mate diversity of practice for one thousand years. This should be no cause
for division among us.
89. Cyprian of Carthage, “Letter 63,” no. 13. See also Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III,
q. 74, a. 6–7; Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chapter 7, DH 1748; Joseph
Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik in sieben Büchern, 7th ed., vol. 3., Wissenschaftliche Bibliothek, Se-
ries 1: Theologische Lehrbücher 22 (Paderborn, Germany: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1922), 244.
90. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 74, a. 6; Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacri-
fice of the Mass, chapter 7, DH 1748.
91. Joseph A. Jungmann, The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origin and Development, trans. Fran-
cis A. Brunner, vol. 2 (Notre Dame, Ind.: Christian Classics, 2012), 31–34.
92. ­Perrin, L’institution des sacrements, 394–97.

68 Th e I n s titution of t h e E uc h ar i st
 Aquinas explains that, when it comes to leaven, the priest should fol-
low the practice of his own rite.93 An eastern Orthodox priest sins by
consecrating unleavened bread, and a Roman Catholic priest sins by con-
secrating leavened bread. In this example, each priest acts against the tra-
dition and common practice of his ecclesial rite, thus disobeying his bish-
op and causing confusion among the faithful. But Aquinas thinks that
when a priest celebrates the Byzantine rite with unleavened bread or the
Latin rite with leavened bread, the bread being consecrated still becomes
a true sacrament. In each case, the Eucharist is valid but illicit.
In recent years, some theologians and pastors have expressed the de-
sire to use elements other than wheat bread for the Eucharist, for exam-
ple, rice cakes. The Magisterium has remained consistent in its appeal to
Scripture and tradition: only wheat bread and wine of the grape are valid
matter for the Eucharist. Why is this so? First, bread and wine evoke a
large range of biblical texts that foreshadow or express the Eucharist, from
Melchizedek and the manna to the Jewish Passover and the Last Supper.
Our liturgy diminishes its symbolic link with these teachings on the Eu-
charist when we begin to change the sign for motives of inculturation. But
the sacramental signs should allow the faithful to make these connections
through their liturgical participation and meditation on Scripture. The
Eucharist must be seen within God’s broader design of salvation, within
a great web of revealed symbols. Second, the ultimate signification of the
Eucharistic food and drink does not depend on our own regional, tempo-
rary cultural categories, but on the signification established by Christ, by
the cultural setting that he chose, by the Jewish ritual that he consciously
employed to institute the Eucharist, by the words, food, and drink that he
decided to use. Attempts to change the Eucharistic food and drink tend
to obscure the revealed source of the liturgy: the core of the Eucharistic
liturgy comes from Christ, not from us. By remaining faithful to a vener-
able apostolic tradition, we can also better protect the Jewish roots of the
Eucharist.

93. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 74, a. 4.

Th e I ns titution of t h e Euc h ar i s t 69
Fou n dat i o ns for t he Euc ha r ist
Fou n dat i o ns for t he Euc ha r ist
Ch a p t e r 4

}
CHRISTOLOGICAL
AND ECCLESIOLOGICAL
FOUNDATIONS FOR
THE EUCHARIST

Christ established the Eucharist as the Church’s highest act. Now the peo-
ple of God receive the true manna from heaven as food for their earthly
pilgrimage. This manna is Jesus’ flesh and blood given at Passover, Israel’s
great feast, the new Passover that Christ celebrated with the apostles.
The subsequent chapters explore in systematic fashion the central
themes of Eucharistic doctrine: the sacrificial identity of the Church’s cul-
tic act, the corporeal presence of Christ in her midst, the celebrant who
leads the Church in worship, and the fruits of communing in Christ’s
body and blood, which builds up the Church. But first, we need a survey
of some key Christological and ecclesiological themes that ground Eucha-
ristic theology.
As a sacrament and sacrifice, the Eucharist was instituted by Christ

70
as an inherent element of his Incarnation and his way of saving us by
his particular historical deeds. Furthermore, as the greatest of the seven
sacraments, the Eucharist constitutes the highest s­elf-expression of the
Church, she who is the universal sacrament of salvation. In turn, her sac-
ramentality depends on Christ. Our focus thus turns to a theology of how
the Incarnate Word saves, and how to contemplate the sacramentality of
the Church by which Christ’s saving action is made present anew.
I begin with a survey of the Christological ground of the Church’s sac-
ramentality. This will allow us to integrate a key element of Vatican II’s
ecclesiology. I then turn to a crucial Christological theme that underlies
sacramental doctrine, namely, Christ’s humanity as an instrumental cause
of grace. Here we meditate on Christ’s “downward mediation” of divine
life, which involves the Church’s sacraments as instruments of grace.
From there, I will hone in on another Christological theme, his “upward
mediation,” which is his sacrifice on the Cross, an offering renewed at ev-
ery Eucharistic celebration. This study calls for a sketch of some biblical
images of sin, as well as an overview of various kinds of sacrifice in the
Old Testament. Christ came to fulfill the whole Torah, and his work cli-
maxed in the Last Supper, Calvary, and his Resurrection.

Christ as the Foundation of Sacramentality

The Incarnation makes possible the sacramental order, from the Church’s
sacramentality to the seven sacraments, and here we can mention four
ways in which the Incarnation does this. First, sacramentality is all about
mediating grace. The Word made flesh is the unique mediator of salva-
tion. In turn, the Church and the sacraments are mediations that extend
this saving work, always in dependence on Christ’s mediation. Second,
the Incarnation means that God’s salvation comes to us in a visible, con-
crete, corporeal mode, especially via Christ’s Passion and Resurrection.
Third, the words, deeds, and sufferings of Christ are simultaneously sal-
utary and revelatory (like God’s word in Scripture, which simultaneously
creates and communicates). One can even say: Christ revealed by saving
and he saved by revealing. For example, he dies out of love on the Cross,
thus simultaneously reconciling us with God and revealing the depth
of divine love for us. This too is reflected in the Church and her sacra-

Foun dation s for t h e Euch ar ist 71

ments. The speaking of the words of consecration over the gifts mani-
fests Christ’s presence on the altar and simultaneously effects that very
presence. Fourth, Christ’s saving deeds are at once divine and human: his
two natures operate together. By analogy, the Church’s proclamation of
the Word, her worship, and the celebration of the sacraments are human
deeds by which the Holy Spirit acts.
Now some theologians would prefer to speak of Christ’s sacramen-
tality.1 Following Emmanuel Perrier, I will avoid this term, for the fol-
lowing reasons. Sacraments are signs of invisible, saving realities. Now
Christ’s humanity is a sign not of his divinity, but of his person. His hu-
manity truly belongs to him, being substantially united to the person of
the Logos. Furthermore, the reality of salvation is accomplished in his
flesh. His visible deeds are not signs of another reality that is saving, but
fully participate in the act of salvation. Those deeds are at once human
and divine.2 By contrast, the Eucharistic signs of bread and wine signify
and contain a saving reality, but those signs (the accidents) are not them-
selves a saving reality. The way that Christ saves grounds sacramentality
while remaining above it.
Yet sacramentality is clearly rooted in Christ. Also, our need for the
Church and sacraments is partly a consequence of Christ’s Ascension, as
he is no longer visible to us. Henceforth, we can encounter Christ in a
concrete, visible mode, via the “extension” of the Incarnation that is the
Church.3 The Book of Acts would seem to call precisely for that exten-
sion, for it often presents the disciples and their ministry as mirror images
of Jesus as he is portrayed in the Gospel of Luke.

The Church as Sacrament of Communion

In the aftermath of a ­post-Tridentine ecclesiology, which often focused on
the Church as a hierarchical institution, ­nineteenth-century theologians
began to recover a more patristic vision of the Church as a mystery or as

1. Edward Schillebeeckx, Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God (Kansas City, Mo.:
Sheed & Ward, 1963).
2. Emmanuel Perrier, “L’enjeu christologique de la satisfaction (II),” Revue Thomiste 103
(2003): 244–47.
3. Schillebeeckx, Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God, 41.

72 Fou n d ations for t he Eucha r i st

a sacrament of salvation. This theological movement bore fruit at Vati-
can II. The key text on this theme is found at the very beginning of the
Council’s Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Lumen Gentium), which
states that “the Church, in Christ, is in the nature of sacrament—a sign
and instrument, that is, of communion with God and of unity among all
men.”4 This passage offers the first description or definition of the Church
in the whole document.
­Benoît-Dominique de la Soujeole explains that Christ’s humanity
renders the divine life visible, and Christ’s human deeds transmit a share
in that life. The Church participates in the gifts imparted to Christ’s hu-
manity. For this reason, she can communicate that grace. Because she is
joined to her head, she can transmit a share in his life. In other words, the
Church does not simply make us holy, she is holy, though her members
are sinners. The grace she possesses becomes visible by her various acts,
such as worship, evangelization, and service of neighbor.5 Theology can
thus account for the Christocentrism of Lumen Gentium, including its
description of sign and instrument.
Vatican II’s revival of the patristic doctrine of the Church as a sacra-
ment of salvation has engendered a long debate on how best to under-
stand the nature of this sacramentality. I will adopt the interpretation
of de la Soujeole, who synthesizes biblical, patristic, and scholastic doc-
trines while avoiding a perilous division between the visible and invisi-
ble Church.6 We should distinguish these two elements of the Church
without separating them, much as we distinguish Christ’s two natures
while seeing their unity in his person.
De la Soujeole recalls that the notion of sacramentality is applied in
analogous ways: it must be employed with nuance. He defines the Church
primarily as a sacrament of communion. De la Soujeole articulates the
Church’s sacramental nature not by analogy with a generic definition of
sacrament, nor by analogy with all seven sacraments, but in relation to the
Eucharist. I will survey his account of the Church’s sacramentality and
4. Lumen Gentium, no. 1.
5. ­Benoît-Dominique de la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church, trans. Michael
J. Miller, Thomistic Ressourcement 3 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 2014), 320–22.
6. Guy Mansini, “Lumen Gentium,” in The Reception of Vatican II, ed. Matthew L. Lamb and
Matthew Levering (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 66–68.

Foun dation s for t h e Euch ar ist 73

then turn to the theme of communion. As an entryway to the topic, we
need an overview of the Eucharist’s sacramentality.
Starting with medieval theology, the Eucharist has been fruitfully an-
alyzed via a threefold structure: it is a sign (bread and wine, and the prayer
of consecration), it contains a reality immediately signified (Christ’s body
and blood), and an ultimate reality that is given (grace). The articulation
of this threefold structure in sacramental theology finds its origins in Au-
gustine’s theology of baptism, whence the scholastic theologians applied
it to the other sacraments. In Latin, this triple structure is called sacra-
mentum tantum, res et sacramentum, and res tantum. The sign, or sacra-
mentum tantum, involves the visible aspect of the sacrament. The sign
is fruitful: under the signs of bread and wine consecrated by the priest,
Christ’s body and blood are brought to us. The same body and blood are
the res et sacramentum. The sign contains a hidden, sacred reality: it is
a mystery. The sign directly signifies the presence of Christ’s body and
blood. Yet these gifts in turn signify and grant a share in divine life or
grace, the res tantum. Jesus’ body and blood also signify the body that is
his Church, and they impart a deeper share in her unity by an outpouring
of charity (the res). The res et sacramentum abides, while the res tantum
is given in a particular moment to those who receive the Eucharist with
the proper disposition (a distinction which I will explore more fully in
subsequent chapters).
This threefold structure beautifully summarizes the Eucharistic mys-
tery. De la Soujeole argues that the same structure offers the most fruitful
entryway into a theology of the Church’s sacramentality. She is a commu-
nion of divine life—of knowing, loving, and hoping in God—a share in
supernatural life that is at once personal and communal. This life of grace
is hidden yet also manifested through deeds. Here we have the Church’s
res tantum, which is the invisible element, wherein the Church militant
and the Church triumphant are one.
De la Soujeole notes that the Church is a visible sign of communion
with God and one another (sacramentum tantum). We find this visibility
of grace in the Church’s rites, her moral discipline, and various aspects of
her culture. The shared life of the Church (worship, service, and evangeli-
zation) are the manifestation of her life of grace. The Church’s visible ac-

74 Fou n d ations for t he Eucha r i st

tions draw unbelievers to conversion, and, for those who have faith, these
same actions can be perceived as signs of God’s presence in the world. All
of the Church’s activity, from her prayer to the simplest service of neigh-
bor, should dispose persons to an encounter with God and a share in his
life. The Church is a fruitful sign: her deeds communicate salvation.
De la Soujeole proposes that the Church’s res et sacramentum are
the Gospel and the celebration of the sacraments. The act of sharing the
Word and the sacramental rites signify the mystery of God’s saving plan.
At the same time, the transmission of the Word and the sacramental litur-
gies offer the grace signified thereby. The res et sacramentum both signifies
and is a holy reality. The Gospel and sacraments are abiding, permanent
realities. They remain with us, regardless of the holiness of the Church’s
pilgrim members. But we also need faith in order to see the Gospel as
God’s word and the sacraments as means of his grace.7 The Church’s res
et sacramentum is a mystery of faith.
The Church as a sign possesses a res et sacramentum, which in turn
causes a share in grace (the res tantum).8 De la Soujeole therefore takes
the heart of the Church’s visibility and places it first under the res et sac-
ramentum. Her other activities may or may not offer a share in divine life,
but the Gospel and the sacraments do this by their very nature. Feeding
the poor may or may not be an occasion of a new outpouring of grace for
those accomplishing this good deed (or those receiving it), depending on
the charity and the intention of the moral agent, but the Word and the
sacraments always offer grace to those properly disposed.
The Church is a sacrament of communion. The latter theme allows
an integration of Trinitarian theology, Christology, and the horizontal
element of the Church. At its origin, communion is simply the life of the
Triune God, the mutual knowledge and love of Father, Son, and Spirit.
By the Incarnation, a share in this communion is offered to humanity.9
That gift is proposed to us in a supreme mode in the Eucharist: “The cup
of blessing which we bless, is it not a communion (koinonia) in the Blood
of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not communion (koinonia) in

7. ­De la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church, 439–48.

8. De la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church, 448–49.
9. See 1 Jn 1:3–7.

Foun dation s for t h e Euchar i st 75

the Body of Christ. Because there is one bread, we who are many are one
body, for we all partake of the one bread.”10 Paul recognized that this com-
munion is both vertical and horizontal.11 The e­ ighth-century theologian
John Damascene comments: “It [the Eucharist] is called communion, and
truly is so, because of our having communion through it with Christ and
partaking both of His flesh and His divinity, and because through it we
have communion with and are united to one another.”12
At the heart of communion, we find charity, the gift that binds the
Church’s members together. Inspired by St. John and St. Augustine, Lu-
men Gentium describes charity as the origin, life, and aim of the Church:
God’s love in Christ, the love of Christ in the Church’s members, and the
perfect beatifying love obtained in the heavenly Jerusalem.13 The Church
as sacrament naturally expresses this communion of charity. De la Sou-
jeole recalls that, for St. Paul, all the good done by the Church’s members
should be a spiritual sacrifice offered to God (Rom 12:1–3). The simple,
daily sacrifices of the faithful culminate in the one perfect sacrifice of
the Eucharistic liturgy. Here, we find the primary manifestation of the
Church’s life, one that is also (and not coincidentally) the most powerful
site for the outpouring of grace. The liturgy is both sign and gift, that is, it
is a fruitful sign. Here we find the visibility of the Church’s life of charity,
a visibility that in turn communicates a greater share in charity.14 In the
Eucharistic liturgy, the proclamation of the Word and the celebration of
the sacrament is offered for the people’s assent, their Amen. Here we see
the descending aspect of the liturgy, the transmission of God’s gifts. Word
and sacrament deepen the ecclesial members’ communion, for which de
la Soujeole proposes a twofold form: a confessing and a celebrating com-
munity. Here we find the ascending aspect of the liturgy, our response to
the gifts received. The liturgy spurs the faithful on to spread the Word by
words and deeds, and to participate in the Church’s liturgy with renewed
fervor. The acts of confessing and celebrating manifest the ecclesial life of

10. 1 Cor 10:16–17, RSV translation modified.

11. De la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church, 453–59.
12. John Damascene, On the Orthodox Faith, trans. Frederic H. Chase, The Fathers of the
Church 37 (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1958), bk. 4, chap. 13, p. 361.
13. Lumen Gentium, no. 5; see also de la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church,
464–65.
14. De la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church, 471.

76 Fou n dations for t he Euch a r i st

grace, the life of communion. Confession means giving witness to God’s
saving plan in order to make known the saving economy whose center are
the Incarnate Word and his Church. By participating again in the liturgy,
we find a new participation in the Trinity’s life. These considerations help
to illumine the meaning of the famous expression of Lumen Gentium,
that the Eucharist is the source and summit of the Church’s life.15
The Church’s sacramentality especially pertains to the Eucharistic lit-
urgy. Sacrosanctum Concilium explains it thus: “the principal manifesta-
tion of the Church consists in the full, active participation of all God’s
holy people in the same liturgical celebrations, especially in the same Eu-
charist, in one prayer, at one altar, at which the bishop presides, surround-
ed by his college of priests and his ministers.”16 Here, the Council focuses
on the Eucharist as an ecclesial sign, specifically as a sign of unity, which
is expressed in the gathering of the local Church around her bishop. The
conciliar text references several passages from St. Ignatius of Antioch’s
letters. The ­early-second-century martyr explains that the bishop rep-
resents Christ in the midst of the Church.17 This theme is closely linked
to another key image employed in Sacrosanctum Concilium: “In the
earthly liturgy we take part in a foretaste of that heavenly liturgy.”18 Paul
McPartlan notes the striking parallel between Ignatius’s doctrine of the
liturgy and several visions in the Book of the Apocalypse. According to
Ignatius, the bishop images the glorified lamb at the center of the heav-
enly throne room, while the priests and ministers who immediately sur-
round him image the elders who worship the lamb, and the lay faithful
image the great multitude that joins in the celestial worship of the risen
Lord. “The Eucharist, then, is the primary place where the heavenly mys-
tery which is the Church is brought to bear upon this historical world,
indeed it is the sacrament of the heavenly mystery, both containing and
portraying it.”19

15. Lumen Gentium, no. 11; de la Soujeole, Introduction to the Mystery of the Church, 485–87.
16. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 41.
17. Ignatius of Antioch, Letters to the Smyrnaeans, in The Epistles of St. Clement of Rome and
St. Ignatius of Antioch, ed. James A. Kleist, Ancient Christian Writers 1 (New York: Paulist Press,
1978), no. 8, p. 93.
18. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 8.
19. Paul McPartlan, Sacrament of Salvation: An Introduction to Eucharistic Ecclesiology (Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark, 1995), 65.

Foun dation s for t h e Euch ar ist 77

Christ’s Humanity Efficaciously Mediates Grace
The Church and the sacramental rites participate in the saving action of
the Incarnate Word, and this in the time after the Ascension. The invisi-
bility of the ascended Lord calls for the sacramentality of the Church that
renders his dynamic presence visible. I now look more closely at one of
two key ways in which the Church and the liturgy participate in Christ’s
saving action. I refer to the Church’s share in Jesus’ act of pouring out
grace, which is also called Christ’s downward mediation. The specific role
of his humanity as an instrumental, efficient cause of grace illumines the
entire sacramental order, and especially helps us to grasp the power of his
Eucharistic body and blood. It also offers a powerful analogy that helps us
understand how the bishop or priest presiding at Eucharist acts in perso-
na Christi. After considering Christ’s downward mediation, I will in turn
take up his upward mediation, namely, Jesus’ offering to the Father. The
Church as sacrament shares in Christ’s work of pouring out grace (down-
ward mediation), and she manifests her identity most powerfully when
she offers sacrifice together with her head (upward mediation).
The act of sharing or giving grace belongs not only to the Trinity, not
only to Christ in his divinity, but also to Christ in his humanity. This
theological claim is rooted in the Christology of several Church Fathers as
well as the early Christological councils. Here, I set out in summary form
Aquinas’s theology of the efficacy of Christ’s downward mediation.20 No
other theologian has developed this theme as extensively or, in my view,
has succeeded as well in linking Christology and sacramentology.
Inspired by St. Athanasius and St. John Damascene, Thomas draws
the following analogy: Christ’s humanity is the instrument of his divinity
somewhat as the body is the instrument of the soul. The body is intimate-
ly joined to the soul. In a similar way, Christ’s humanity is joined to his
divinity, that is, in his divine person. In each case, we find a metaphysical
union that grounds an operative synergy. For example, when I communi-
cate, my body and soul act together in harmony. My thoughts and inten-
tions formed in the soul are shared through the body. In Christ, there is
a communion of operation between his two natures. His humanity is a

20. I will be following the interpretation of Charles Journet and ­Jean-Pierre Torrell.

78 Fou n d ations for t he Euchar i st

“conjoined instrument,” for his humanity is always joined to his divinity
(via his person). His divine power comes to us through his humanity. By
contrast, the sacraments are “separate instruments” of Christ, more like
the artist’s paintbrush than a body metaphysically joined to the soul.21
Aquinas insists that Christ’s humanity shares instrumentally in the act
of giving grace. He can make this claim for he firmly holds that, in the
activity of pouring out grace, Christ’s humanity depends on his divinity
for its causal activity: “The human operation of Christ obtains a certain
divine efficacy from the union of the divinity, just as the action of sec-
ondary [instrumental] agents obtains a certain efficacy from the princi-
pal agent.”22 In other words, when grace is poured out, Christ’s humanity
does not take the place of the divinity, nor operate without it, nor does
his humanity stand in competition with his divinity. Aquinas builds on
the Christology of the councils of Chalcedon (451) as well as of Con-
stantinople II (553) and Constantinople III (680–681). The Christ’s two
natures and two operations are distinct yet not separate, and without ten-
sion. Also, Jesus’ human will is the perfect instrument of his divine will.
Not only does Christ’s humanity work together with his divinity, his
human action is elevated in a supernatural way, thanks to the hypostatic
union: “The human nature assumed in Christ is such that it operates in-
strumentally those things which are operations proper to God alone, such
as to purify sins, to illumine minds through grace, and to lead someone to
the perfection of eternal life.”23 Here, the key word is “instrumentally.”
Thus, it is correct to say that God saves, and that God alone (or Christ in
his divinity) is the source of salvation. But this does not exclude the Son
of God’s saving us through the operation of his humanity. In this context,
the term “to save” signals the giving of grace to man, not an act of sacrifice
or merit. Aquinas points to this operative elevation of Christ’s humanity
when he says that Jesus’ “human nature participates in the operation of
the divine nature, just as an instrument participates in the operation of
the principal cause.”24

21. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles, vol. 3, ed. Ceslaus Pera, Petrus Marc, and Petrus
Caramello (Rome: Marietti, 1961), bk. 4, chap. 41, no. 3798.
22. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles, bk. 4, chap. 36, no. 3748.
23. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles, bk. 4, chap. 41, no. 3798.
24. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 19, a. 1, corpus.

Foundation s for t h e Euch ar ist 79

 Following Chalcedon and Constantinople III, Aquinas maintains
that each of Christ’s two natures remains integral in their being and op-
eration.25 Each nature is a principle of operation: we can think and love
because we act by our human nature. Each nature shapes or specifies the
range of actions possible for the being that has the nature. Each nature
has an operation proportioned to it. This remains the case, even when
something becomes the instrument of a higher agent or cause. Each agent
has its proper operation, which does not become the proper operation of
the higher agent. For example, the proper operation of Christ’s humanity
is not to give grace, but to think, talk, and sleep. The proper operation
of his divinity is to give grace and resurrect the dead. And yet, when his
human nature becomes an instrument of the divine nature, that human-
ity’s instrumental act can exceed its merely human operative capacity. A
paintbrush cannot paint by itself, and my body cannot communicate in-
telligent thoughts without an action of my soul. Thus, what we murmur
in our sleep usually makes no sense, since our minds are not functioning
rationally. But a principal cause with a higher nature can act through an
instrumental cause with a lower nature. Your body communicates intel-
ligent sounds because it is moved by your soul, but your body does so
in a properly corporeal, temporal way. Christ’s humanity communicates
grace, for this human operation is also that of the eternal Logos. In oth-
er words, as man he continues to act according to his proper operation.
Christ’s human nature continues to contribute something of its own, its
“proper operation,” even when he saves. We find an operative synergy, so
that Christ heals by his physical touch.26 The latter is a proper operation
of his humanity. Christ’s saving activity belongs to both natures in dis-
tinct modes: as source or as instrument, as principal cause or as a second-
ary, dependent cause.
The preceding considerations allow us to see how Thomas can make
sense of the following claim: Christ saves by particular historical acts (still
taking “to save” as a reference to the giving of grace). The flux of grace
25. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 19, a. 1, corpus. For this development in Aqui-
nas, see Martin Morard, “Une source de saint Thomas d’Aquin: Le deuxième concile de Constanti-
nople (553),” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 81 (1997): 21–56; also Morard, “Thom-
as d’Aquin, lecteur des conciles,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 98 (2005): 211–365.
26. ­Jean-Pierre Torrell, Encyclopédie Jésus le Christ chez saint Thomas d’Aquin (Paris: Cerf,
2008), 370.

80 Fou n dations for t h e Euc ha r i st

and life does not simply pass through the humanity of the glorified Christ
in heaven. Rather, the river of life comes to us primarily through his sav-
ing acts carried out during his earthly pilgrimage, especially his Passion
and Death, Resurrection and Ascension.27 I will focus on the Cross here,
without excluding Jesus’ other saving deeds and sufferings, which we also
call the mysteries of the life of Christ.
The notion of instrumentality tells us that the nature of the instrument
leaves a trace of itself on the effect. When we closely study Michelangelo’s
Moses, we can determine, with at least some level of accuracy, the kind of
instruments he must have used in sculpting this statue. Thomas holds that
something similar happens with the particular events in Christ’s life: here,
the disposition of his humanity, such as his suffering, but also the interior
dispositions of his heart, leave a trace on the grace poured out.
In the middle of the twentieth century, the Swiss theologian (and lat-
er cardinal) Charles Journet drew powerful insights from Aquinas’s vision
of Christ’s instrumentality as man. Journet insists that the interior state of
Christ’s heart, such as his suffering love for us on the Cross, leaves a trace
on the grace and charity given to us, so that the Spirit of Christ begins
to incline our hearts according to the inclinations of the human heart of
Christ. The grace of the Crucified Lord leads his disciples on the path
of love, a path along which we grow in our own willingness to suffer, to
do penance for the salvation of our neighbor. The same grace inclines us
more and more to give courageous witness to Christ.28
Thomas especially developed this doctrine of ­Christo-forming grace
in his study of Christ’s Resurrection, though the principles we find there
also apply to other mysteries of Christ’s life. As Journet shows, Thomas
teaches that, in Christ’s act of rising from the dead, the power to resur-
rect bodies is present and passes through time, to bring about our bodily
resurrection at the end of time. The focus is not simply on the resurrected
Christ, but more specifically on his act of rising. The spiritual power of
this deed (animated by the Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead) passes
through time, bringing to us the life that was given to Christ on Easter

27. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 48, aa. 2–3 & 6; q. 49, a. 3; q. 56, a. 1.
28. Charles Journet, L’Église du Verbe Incarné: Essaie de théologie spéculative, vol. 2, Sa struc-
ture interne et son unité Catholique (Saint Maurice, Switzerland: Éditions S­ aint-Augustin, 1999),
482–83, 530–50.

Foundations for t h e Euchar i st 81

Sunday.29 Something similar occurs at baptism: the power of the Resur-
rection is present, so that sin is taken away and a share in Christ’s new life
and his virtues is imparted.30
Following Aquinas, we can draw a theological consequence from this
Christology. Since Christ’s humanity was chosen by the Father to fulfill
an instrumental role in the giving of grace, then something analogous can
happen with the sacraments: a share in the power of the higher agent, an
operative synergy between God and creatures, and no competition be-
tween them.31 This has important implications for the doctrine of Eu-
charistic sacrifice.

Christ’s Upward Mediation: The Sacrifice of Calvary

Christ’s mediation of grace goes together with his upward mediation of
prayer and intercession, of sacrifice and redemption. These saving actions
performed during Jesus’ earthly life constitute part of God’s visible pres-
ence among us. Christ’s act of performing the sacrifice at Calvary allows
the Church to participate in his offering, and so actualizes her sacramen-
tal identity. For if the Cross were not a sacrifice, then the Church could
only offer adoration and praise, but no perfect sacrifice. But the Cross was
a sacrifice, and its fruits in turn allow us to contemplate the fruitfulness of
the Mass, as it makes present here and now Jesus’ s­ elf-offering at Calvary.
Finally, as we saw above, the liturgy also makes present the heavenly sacri-
fice of love and praise that the glorified Lord offers to the Father with the
Church. This last aspect of Christ’s upward mediation will be treated in
the next chapter.
I will focus the present study on the New Testament teaching about
the Cross as a sacrifice, especially in light of its Old Testament back-
ground. Along with some key Old Covenant themes of sacrifice, I shall
29. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 56, a. 1; ­Jean-Pierre Torrell, “La causalité salv-
ifique de la résurrection du Christ selon saint Thomas,” in Recherches thomasiennes, Bibliothèque
Thomiste 52 (Paris: Vrin, 2000), 233.
30. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 56, a. 2; ­Jean-Pierre Torrell, Christ and Spiritu-
ality in St. Thomas Aquinas, trans. Bernhard Blankenhorn (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Uni-
versity of America Press, 2011), 98.
31. For this connection between Christology and sacraments, see my essay, “The Instrumental
Causality of the Sacraments: Thomas Aquinas and L ­ ouis-Marie Chauvet,” Nova et Vetera (English
ed.) 4 (2006): 275–91.

82 Fou nd ations for t he Euchar i st

briefly consider some biblical notions of sin. After the biblical study of
sacrifice and sin, I will integrate Aquinas’s insights on Christ’s sacrificial
love and his work of satisfying for sins. I begin by considering sacrifice in
the Old Testament, an examination that greatly illumines the Cross.

Sacrifice in the Old Testament

The Old Testament sacrifices foreshadow Christ’s offering on the Cross.
They also illumine the gift of the Eucharist as an offering made to the Fa-
ther. The Old Testament presents a vast array of sacrifices, from Cain and
Abel to the first Passover and the many rituals that shaped Israel’s litur-
gical life. Israel’s sacrifices evolved over time. There were festal sacrificial
rites, such as Passover, Pentecost, and the Feast of Booths, daily temple
sacrifices, as well as offerings for particular desires and needs such as an in-
dividual’s ritual purity or celebrations of thanksgiving. Contrary to some
popular misconceptions, Old Testament sacrifice concerns much more
than cleansing ritual impurity or the appeasement of God for an offense
committed. For example, burnt offerings were not intended to appease
God. In the Old Testament, to sacrifice means to bring gifts into God’s
presence in order to enter into communion with him, an act that may or
may not include the removal of obstacles to communion. In other words,
the primary purpose of Old Testament sacrifice is positive, not negative.
We have already studied the fi ­ rst-century Passover ritual. Space does
not allow for a comprehensive treatment of Israel’s sacrifices as a founda-
tion for the theology of the Cross and the Eucharist. No single book of
the Old Testament gives a comprehensive description of that system. In
this partial treatment, I will first review the five kinds of sacrifices laid out
in the Book of Leviticus (commonly identified with the priestly sources
of the Pentateuch). I will briefly mention some practices and interpreta-
tions of these offerings in the Second Temple Period. The aim is to attain
an overview of Israel’s daily liturgical life at Jerusalem in the time of Jesus.
Then, I will give particular attention the Day of Atonement (or Yom Kip-
pur), which the Letter to the Hebrews links with the Cross. I conclude
with a brief look at some other Old Testament figures of the Cross.

Foundation s for t h e Euch ar ist 83

Sacrifices in Leviticus
The Book of Leviticus sets out five major types of sacrifices, and these be-
came central for the cultic life of Israel: (1) the burnt offering, (2) the ce-
real offering, (3) the purification offering, (4) the w
­ ell-being offering, and
(5) the reparation or guilt offering.
Burnt offerings were made morning and evening in the temple, as a sac-
rifice on behalf of Israel. Here, a bull or lamb, wine, and cereal were burned
or wholly consumed by fire, an act that signified God’s abiding presence
with his people.32 Burnt offerings were made with a male animal from the
herd (a bull) or the flock (a lamb or goat), or with a bird such as a pigeon.
It was an ascending offering because the animal was entirely burned, with
the smoke directed to heaven. The burnt offering invoked God’s presence
or help for a particular occasion or need (Nm 21–24; 2 Kgs 3:26–28).33
The blood was poured around the altar as a libation. The Jewish Mishna
describes how the priests made the sacrifice. Among other things, one
priest slit the animal’s throat before taking it to the altar, while a second
priest let the blood drip from the throat into cups. Some of the blood was
then sprinkled on the altar, and the rest around the base of the altar. From
the altar, the blood ran in a channel out of the temple area into the Valley
of Kidron, where the Garden of Gethsemane is located.34
The temple tax that financed (among other things) the daily burnt of-
fering was called “atonement money” (Ex 30:16). From at least the time of
Isaiah, atonement meant (among other things) paying God for the debt
incurred through sin.35 This was one of the favors sought by the burnt
offering, though Scripture does not make it clear what can be atoned
for or expiated by the burnt offering, and the rabbis debated the matter
(Lv 1:4). At least with the development of Israel’s cultic life, the burnt of-
fering above all became the expression of joy, for example, in fulfillment
of a vow (Lv 22:17–19; Nm 15:3).36
32. Ex 29:38–42; Nm 15:1–10, 28:3–8; Ezek 46:13–15.
33. Gary A. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings: Old Testament,” in The Anchor Bi-
ble Dictionary, vol. 5, edited by David Noel Friedman (New York: Double Day, 1992), 877–80.
34. E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (Philadelphia: Trinity Press
International, 1992), 104–5.
35. Gary A. Anderson, Sin: A History (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2009), 49
& chap. 4.
36. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, The Anchor Bible 3 (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 175.

84 Fou n dations for t he Euch a r i st

 One could also request or make a burnt offering for an individual per-
son’s need. Let us note that the Bible does not require this kind of offer-
ing from individuals. Rather, the individual burnt offering was seen as a
free gift made to God. Josephus links the individual burnt offering with
thanksgiving and atonement. For example, King David made an such an
offering after God had stopped a plague that had been inflicted upon Isra-
el because of David’s sin. No ­first-century author thought that such sacri-
fices provided food for God.37
The second Levitical sacrifice is the cereal offering (Lv 2). It accom-
panied both the daily burnt offering of animals and the peace offering of
animals. The cereal offering could also be made on its own, for example,
as a sacrifice of thanksgiving (Lv 7:12–14; Nm 15:1–12). It could obtain
the benefits of a burnt offering for those who could not afford to sacrifice
an animal. It was considered a gift to God, to show reverence and to ob-
tain some favor from him. Like the burnt offering, it was intended as an
expression of joy. The independent cereal offering had various functions,
including as a purification sacrifice for the poor man. It was used to pres-
ent to God the first fruits of the barley and wheat harvest (Lv 2:14–16,
23:10–17).38 The priests could eat of this sacrifice, thus signifying a shared
meal with God.39 Finally, unlike other sacrifices, the cereal offering could
be licitly made outside of the Jerusalem temple.40
The third Levitical category of sacrifice is the peace offering (shelem)
(Lv 3), which is an individual offering. Translations of this term vary, as
they include “sacrifice of w­ ell-being” and “communion sacrifice.”41 The
category of peace offering includes (1) thanksgiving offerings (toda),
(2) vowed or votive sacrifices (neder), and (3) freewill offerings (ned-
aba).42 By the time of Josephus, the peace offering was always done with
a f­our-legged animal (implied by Lv 3:1–16).43 The three types of peace
offerings I mentioned (thanksgiving, votive, free will) were performed on

37. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 106.

38. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 196–200.
39. Mary Douglas, “The Eucharist: Its Continuity with the Bread Sacrifice of Leviticus,” Mod-
ern Theology 15 (1999): 223.
40. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 199.
41. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 110.
42. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 873–80.
43. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 110.

Foundations for t h e Euchar i st 85

feast days (1 Sam 1:3–4; Dt 12:11–12). Thanksgiving offerings were similar
to the Passover ritual. The sacrificed meat of such offerings was eaten on
the same day. Peace offerings were not atonement for sin, but celebratory
rites.44 In peace offerings, unlike burnt offering and purification offering,
the laymen bringing the sacrifice communed in the victim, which express-
es communion with God.
The fourth sacrifice in Leviticus is the purification offering (Lv 4). It
is also called a sin offering, but this term can be misleading, as the Levit-
ical description of this ritual involves cleansing from ritual impurity, but
not from the guilt of sin (which here essentially refers to grave sins, such
as adultery, unjust bloodshed, or idolatry).45 Only later Jewish develop-
ments and New Testament teaching explain how sacrifice can take away
the guilt of voluntary sins. Purification offerings were usually made for
individuals.46
Most purification sacrifices were done with birds, especially when
they were brought by the poor. Josephus mentions purification offerings
that were made with a lamb and a kid, though this was probably done
mostly by wealthy individuals. Following Leviticus 5, a person in extreme
poverty could simply bring flour for a purification offering. The flour re-
mained unmixed on the altar, where some was burned, and the rest was
left for the priest to eat. The flour became a sacrifice on the altar.47 Here
we may have Eucharistic imagery.48
In purification offerings, the greater the offense (or impurity), the
closer the blood was brought to the holy of holies (the place where the
Ark of the Covenant was kept before its disappearance in the sixth centu-
ry b.c.). For individual impurity, blood was sprinkled on the altar outside
the sanctuary. For the impurity of the community or of the priest, blood
was sprinkled on the veil in front of the inner sanctuary.49
In contrast to the Cross, the purification offering did not purify grave
44. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 873–80.
45. Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2000), 30–31.
46. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 107–8.
47. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 108–10.
48. Adrian Schenker, “Les sacrifices dans la Bible,” in Recht und Kultur im Alten Testament:
Achtzehn Studien, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 172 (Fribourg, Switzerland: Universitätsverlag,
2000), 15–19.
49. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 880.

86 Fou n dations for t he Euch a r i st

sinners, such as murderers or adulterers: these lived in a degraded state, or
suffered exile or capital punishment.50 Indeed, the blood of purification
offerings did not purify the sinner, because blood was not applied to the
sinner, but rather brought near to God (Lv 1).51 The Eucharistic blood
functions very differently.
The fifth Levitical category is the reparation or guilt offering (Lv 5:14–
26). It is mainly distinguished from the purification offering by its focus
on the profanation of sacred items, such as bringing an animal unfit for
sacrifice or taking a false vow. Here too, an animal such as a lamb or bull
was normally offered, yet, for economic reasons, one could substitute for
these with two birds or even with flour. This offering was also made for vi-
olations committed without knowledge. Overall, the reparation offering
remains the most obscure among the five categories found in Leviticus.52
Philo and Josephus go beyond the text of Leviticus, as they hold that this
offering provides a remedy for voluntary transgressions.53

Yom Kippur
Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) was central to the liturgical life of
Israel. The Letter to the Hebrews describes this ritual at length and shows
its fulfillment in Christ. Yom Kippur is all about expiation or propitia-
tion.54 God forgives, while man offers reparation for sin. The divine
wrath that man’s sin provoked has been appeased. Expiation presupposes
rupture in the people’s relationship with God. Man’s very life or existence
is at stake, and God provides the means for him to come back to life. An
example can be found in Exodus 32: After the sin of the golden calf, Mo-
ses makes expiation for Israel, and is even willing to offer himself to save
Israel.55
On the feast of Yom Kippur, the high priest entered the inner sanc-
tuary, or Holy of Holies, and sprinkled blood on or in front of the mercy

50. Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism, 30.

51. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 880–85.
52. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 880.
53. Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism, 64.
54. Paolo Garuti, “Espiazione,” in Dizionario teologico sul sangue di Cristo, ed. Tullio Veglianti
(Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2007), 474–81.
55. Hartmut Gese, Sulla teologia biblica, Biblioteca della cultura religiosa 54 (Brescia, Italy:
Paideia, 1989), 105–7.

Foundation s for t h e Euch ar ist 87

seat of the ark of the covenant. This was a sign that God had made this
blood the means of reconciliation. The blood from purification offerings
removed the stain of impurity from the sanctuary, so that God would re-
main there (Lv 15:31, 16:18–19; Nm 19:13).56
The Letter to the Hebrews offers an extensive discourse on the limits
of Old Testament sacrifices (including Yom Kippur) to show Christ’s per-
fect sacrifice. Yom Kippur brought only ritual purification, while Christ
brings full, personal purification from sin (Heb 10). The doctrine of He-
brews need not imply that Old Testament sacrifices were without value.
First, as noted in Hebrews, they brought ritual purity of the body. Sec-
ond, Aquinas explains that, when joined to faith in the coming Messiah,
Old Testament sacrifices could be occasions to receive grace and justifi-
cation, as the Israelites express their faith in the future Messiah in a figu-
rative way, even if a full understanding of the figure was lacking for most
ancient Israelites.57

Other Old Testament Sacrifices

Beyond the sacrifices prescribed in Leviticus, one should mention three
key Old Testament passages that do not prescribe ritual sacrifices yet
serve as an important background for the sacrifice of the Cross or for Eu-
charistic sacrifice. First, Roch Kereszty points to the binding of Isaac as a
powerful prophecy of Jesus’ saving death. A father offers his own son, he
gives everything. He does so at a place that later rabbinic tradition identi-
fies with Mt. Zion, the place of the Jerusalem temple. Abraham states that
God promised to provide the sacrificial victim (Gn 22:7–8). The Jewish
exegete Jon Levenson points to this event as the root of the Passover sac-
rifice.58
A second passage is the sealing of the covenant between God and Is-
rael at the foot of Mt. Sinai, in Exodus 24. Moses sprinkles the people
with blood, a ritual that culminates in a sacrificial banquet on the holy

56. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 873–80; Anderson, Sin: A History, 22–23.
57. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae ­I-II, q. 103, a. 2.
58. Roch A. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb: Eucharistic Theology from a Biblical, Histor-
ical and Systematic Perspective (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2007), 9; Matthew Levering, Sacri-
fice and Community: Jewish Offering and Christian Eucharist, Illuminations: Theory and Religion
(Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 29–37.

88 Fou nd ations for t he Eucha r i st

mountain.59 Unlike Passover or the Last Supper, this ritual was itself not a
covenant sacrifice, yet the Last Supper will evoke that text.
A third text concerns Isaiah’s Suffering Servant. Here, an innocent
man makes an offering of his life for the sins of others. The Suffering
Servant bears the guilt of the people in a vicarious way (which does not
imply that Christ substitutes for sinners or receives God’s wrath on their
behalf ).60 Of course, Isaiah does not describe a sacrificial ritual, but rath-
er offers a prophecy of a personal sacrifice to come. The Letter to the He-
brews will manifest the ritual character of Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross.

Biblical Analogies of Sin

Scripture presents numerous, complementary descriptions of sin, for ex-
ample, sin as an offense against God or sin as impurity. Two other images
or analogies of sin, which help to render Eucharistic theology more intel-
ligible, are sin as a weight or burden and sin as debt.61
In the Hebrew Old Testament, the notion of sin as a burden predom-
inates (along with sin as impurity). The image of sin as a burden emerges
in the ritual of Yom Kippur (Lv 16–17): a scapegoat or beast of burden is
sent into the desert, symbolically carrying Israel’s sins out of God’s sight.
Here, sin is a heavy weight, which the people cannot bear.62
In ­first-century Palestine, the notion of sin as a debt to be paid began
to gain favor, especially in ­Aramaic-speaking Jewish circles. The New Tes-
tament reflects this, especially in Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer
(“forgive us our debts”). To explain sin and forgiveness, Jesus frequently
tells parables that involve the forgiveness of a great debt.63 In 1 Corinthi-
ans 6:20, Paul reminds his readers that they were “bought with a price.”
Paul here refers to ­debt-slavery, which is more precise than the notion of
debt that emerges in the other passages just mentioned.
The theme of satisfaction for sins gained importance in medieval and

59. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 11.

60. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 9–11.
61. Here, I largely rely on the work of Gary Anderson.
62. Anderson, Sin: A History, 6, 23. Christ will bear the debt of sin for us, which does not
mean that we need to identify him with the scapegoat. What is important is the notion of sin
involved.
63. Anderson, Sin: A History, 7, 23, 31–33, 114–15.

Foundation s for t h e Euch ar ist 89

modern theologies, both Catholic and Protestant. This notion finds its
root in the biblical analogy of sin as a debt to be paid. For example, when
the prophet Isaiah announces the end of Israel’s exile and return to the
Promised Land, he adds that God has redeemed his people, as he releases
them from the bond of slavery (Is 40:1–2). God has remitted their debt.
Israel’s exile was a penalty for her sins, and now she has satisfied for those
sins (this brings up the question of how to balance the theme of God free-
ing the sinner from debt and the sinner repaying the debt by his own pen-
ance, to be taken up later). The ancient Aramaic Targum on Isaiah 40:2
reads: “her debt was remitted.”64 Closely linked with the biblical notion
of sin as debt is the notion of a heavenly treasure.

Christ’s Passion as a Sacrifice in the

New Testament
Having studied part of the Old Testament background on sacrifice and
sin, we now turn to the sacrifice of the Cross. Several New Testament
passages directly and explicitly describe Christ’s death as sacrificial. In
addition, about thirty other passages signal the sacrificial nature of Jesus’
death by using terminology such as “Jesus died for you.”65 One cannot
explain such consistent, widespread use of sacrificial categories for the
Cross in the New Testament unless this doctrine is rooted in the message
of the historical Jesus.66 That is, interpreters who categorize the sacrifi-
cial identity of Christ’s suffering and death as a theological construct of
­first-century Christian authors cannot account for such a massive bibli-
cal witness.67 As Martin Hengel points out, ­first-century Judaism had no
category for a suffering Messiah: this was a great surprise to Jesus’ con-

64. Anderson, Sin: A History, 44–49.

65. See, for example, Mk 14:24; Lk 22:19–20; Jn 10:11–15; Rom 5:6–8; 1 Cor 15:3; 2 Cor 5:14–
15; Gal 2:20; 1 Thes 5:10; Heb 2:9; 1 Pt 2:21; 1 Jn 3:16.
66. Ben F. Meyer, “The Expiation Motif in the Eucharistic Words: A Key to the History of
Jesus?,” in One Loaf, One Cup: Ecumenical Studies of 1 Cor 11 and Other Eucharistic Texts, New
Gospel Studies 6 (Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1993), 16–20.
67. Here, I oppose the thesis of René Girard, Violence and the Sacred (Baltimore, Md.: John
Hopkins University Press, 1984).

90 Fou n dations for t he Euch a r i st

temporaries.68 Thus, many clues point to the antiquity of the doctrine of
Christ’s sacrificial death as going back to the historical Jesus himself.
The New Testament takes a series of Old Testament sacrificial images
and applies them to the Cross. For example, Christ’s Cross brings liber-
ation from sin, but unlike the Old Covenant purification offering, the
Cross makes possible the forgiveness of sin. At 2 Corinthians 5:21, Paul
says that Christ was made sin for us.69 The Hebrew term for “sin” is iden-
tical to the term for “sin offering,” or “purification offering” (hattât).70
Paul intends to teach that Christ became a sin offering for us. That is, con-
trary to the claim of theologians such as Hans Urs von Balthasar, Christ
was not literally “made sin,” as if all that displeases God were now concen-
trated in him, as an object of divine wrath against sinners.71
Romans 3:25 states that God made Christ an instrument of propitia-
tion (hilastērion) by his blood, which involves purification from sin. The
term “propitiation” may allude to the Day of Atonement or Yom Kippur
(Lv 16:14–16; 1 Cor 1:30). The place of atonement is Golgotha, outside
of the temple and Jerusalem.72 The First Letter of John, at verses 2:2 and
4:10, also mentions propitiation or expiation (hilasmos). Ephesians 5:2
describes Christ’s death on the Cross as a sacrifice pleasing to God, as it
compares the Cross to the sweet odor of Old Covenant animal offerings.
The Last Supper accounts include several key allusions to the Cross
as a sacrifice. First, Jesus refers to the blood of the covenant, an allusion
to Exodus 24:1–10, where Moses sprinkles the people with blood in or-
der to institute the covenant with God.73 The blood of the covenant pre-
supposes the sacrifice of a victim. Second, in Mark 14:24, Jesus speaks of
the blood poured out for the many. The giving of one’s life for the many

68. Martin Hengel, The Atonement: The Origins of the Doctrine in the New Testament (Phila-
delphia: Fortress Press, 1981), 40.
69. ­Hans-Josef Klauck, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings: New Testament,” in The Anchor
Bible Dictionary, vol. 5, ed. David Noel Friedman (New York: Double Day, 1992), 887–89.
70. Schenker, “Les sacrifices dans la Bible,” 12–15.
71. Hans Urs von Balthasar, To the Heart of the Mystery of Redemption, trans. Anne Englund
Nash (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2010), 25.
72. Helmut Moll, Die Lehre von der Eucharistie als Opfer (Cologne: Peter Hanstein, 1975),
72–73.
73. Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2015),
90–95.

Foundations for t he Euch ar i st 91

evokes the Suffering Servant (Is 52:14–15; 53:4–8). The blood imag-
ery also alludes to the blood of the sacrificial animals poured out in the
temple.74 Third, Jesus foreshadows his coming sacrificial death when he
says that his blood is poured out for the forgiveness of sins (Mt 26:28).75
Kereszty notes that this Matthean passage finds a strong echo in Hebrews
9–10.76 In these three allusions to sacrifice, the Last Supper (1) offers a
prophecy of the Cross, (2) reveals the power of the Cross, and (3) presents
a teaching about the efficacy of the Last Supper celebration. Overall, the
events in the Upper Room show that Christ’s suffering and death fulfill
the sacrifices that God instituted in the Old Testament.
A few New Testament passages refer to Christ as the paschal lamb
( Jn 1:29; 1 Cor 5:7). Christ’s Passion fulfills the sacrifice prefigured in the
slaying of the Passover lambs on the night of Israel’s Exodus from Egypt,
when God’s people were liberated from slavery.
The Letter to the Hebrews includes the most extensive and systemat-
ic New Testament reflection on sacrifice. The anonymous author of He-
brews presents Christ as the high priest who unites God and mankind
through his priestly offering and mediation. At Hebrews 5:7–8, the au-
thor evokes Christ’s whole Passion by referring to his tears and supplica-
tions made to God.77 The result of this offering is mentioned in verses
9–10: through the Cross, Christ is perfected (teleioun). This seems to be
a technical term, for in the Greek Old Testament (or Septuagint), it is
used in reference to the consecration of priests. If that reading is correct,
then a consecration of Jesus as high priest especially occurs through his
Passion and Death. Hebrews 2:10 notes that Christ was made perfect or
consecrated through his suffering. This perfection as high priest enabled
Christ to mediate salvation to all human beings. As Hebrews 9:24 teach-
es, Christ thus has the power to make us enter into the presence of the Fa-
ther, into the heavenly tent.78 The result of Christ’s priestly consecration
on the Cross is his own glorification, which includes his Resurrection and
Ascension. Hebrews 9:11 refers to a new tent or temple that has been set
74. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 100–104.
75. Klauck, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” 887–88; Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 413–14.
76. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 72–73.
77. Albert Vanhoye, Prêtres anciens, prêtre nouveau selon le Nouveau Testament (Paris: Édi-
tions du Seuil, 1980), 146–50.
78. Vanhoye, Prêtres anciens, 152–55.

92 Fou ndations for t he Euch a r i st

up by God. This tent is a heavenly archetype of the earthly temple, and its
veil is Christ’s glorified body (Heb 10:20). Christ’s glorification and es-
tablishment as an efficacious high priest follow directly from his Passion.
Christ is both victim and priest. Following Aquinas’s reading of Scrip-
ture, we can say that Christ is a priest in that he voluntarily offers himself
for our liberation from sin and our communion with God. He intercedes
(1) by his act of love for God and sinners, (2) through his intense psy-
chological and physical suffering, (3) by his prayer for sinners, (4) by his
death, and (5) by his priestly prayer in heaven. He sheds his own blood
and thus gives up his life for us. Aquinas rightly notes that the heart of
Christ’s sacrifice is not found in his physical suffering or death, though
both are essential in God’s saving plan. Rather, love stands at the heart of
Jesus’ sacrifice. Charity finds its perfect expression in the Passion of Jesus.
This sacrifice has infinite value by (1) Jesus’ perfect charity, (2) his perfect
innocence, and (3) his dignity as the Son of God, a divine person who
suffers in his humanity.79
Hebrews already points to the first of these doctrines, for it centers
the value of Christ’s obedience on the Cross, meaning, in Christ’s will and
his loving obedience. This is how Albert Vanhoye explains Hebrews 5:7:
“In the accounts of the passion, the ‘piety’ of Jesus shows itself clearly. . . .
This attachment to the will of the Father in such dramatic circumstanc-
es manifests extreme filial love. The author [of Hebrews] adds that ‘by
reason of his piety’ Christ’s supplication was ‘heard.’”80 We can already
see this in the binding of Isaac, where Abraham’s obedience stands at the
center. Christ’s offering of perfect love to the Father and the love for man-
kind carried out by means of his bodily offering are two sides of the same
coin.81 The sacrifice of love and bodily sacrifice go together.

79. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 48, a. 3. See also Matthew Levering, Christ’s
Fulfillment of Torah and Temple: Salvation According to Thomas Aquinas (South Bend, Ind.: Uni-
versity of Notre Dame Press, 2002), 58–60.
80. Albert Vanhoye, The Letter to the Hebrews: A New Commentary, trans. Leo Arnold (New
York: Paulist Press, 2015), 103.
81. Vanhoye, Prêtres anciens, 217–25.

Foundations for t he Euch ar i st 93

Christ’s Satisfaction for Sins: A Biblical
and Systematic Overview
I now return to the theme of sin as a debt, which finds its complement
in Christology and the doctrine of satisfaction.82 This teaching has been
much misunderstood, partly as a result of the imbalances found in some
Christologies. Here I propose a biblically grounded, Thomistic approach
to the topic. This theme illumines a key aspect of the theology of the
Mass as a sacrifice.
The New Testament theme of ransom or redemption grounds the the-
ology of satisfaction. Here, Mark 10:45 is crucial: “The Son of Man came
not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom (lutron) for
many.” In the Old Testament, God himself ransomed wayward Israel, but
now Jesus ransoms human beings by his Passion, and he does so volun-
tarily. This fulfills God’s promise in the Old Testament. Christ pays the
price for our sins, a theme that evokes the image of sin as a debt. Also, the
context of Mark 10:45 indicates that human beings can share in the cup of
Christ’s Passion.83
By sinning, man turns away from God, and thus incurs guilt or fault.
He offends God, by failing to give to the Lord his due (especially fidelity
and love). Hence, sin merits a punishment, for by turning away from the
source of life, the human being turns to death. God has inscribed an order
of justice in creation, one that reflects his own justice. This justice orders
the relation of creatures with God and one another. Sin violates this justice.
The Father sent the Son in order to manifest his own justice or righ-
teousness, and to restore us to right relation with God:
since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, they are justified by his
grace as a gift, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus, whom God put
forward as an expiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show
God’s righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former
sins.84

82. The liturgy includes references to the debt of sin. Thus, in the great Exsultet sung at the
beginning of the Easter Vigil, the priest or deacon chants: “[Christ] Who for our sake paid Adam’s
debt to the eternal Father.”
83. Perrier, “L’enjeu christologique de la satisfaction (II),” 205.
84. Rom 3:23–25.

94 Fou n dations for t he Euch a r i st

Man could not restore justice on his own. Instead, God takes the initia-
tive, which is to say that salvation always remains a gift. The Cross man-
ifests not an angry God unloading his wrath on his innocent Son, but
rather God’s holiness and mercy toward sinners.85 We might also recall
the importance of the classical doctrine of divine immutability: since sac-
rifice cannot change the God who is unchanging love, it can only benefit
human beings.86
Redemption thus includes liberation from the guilt of sin and the
punishment due to it, while satisfaction pertains only to punishment.
This twofold liberation restores justice. In other words, salvation involves
a ­re-creation, but not a whole new creation. God could have saved us
without satisfaction, yet with satisfaction we can recognize more easily
the continuity between God’s creating and saving work, continuity be-
tween nature and grace. God restores the order of justice inscribed within
this creation by restoring us to right relationship with him. The term “jus-
tice” gives moral expression to this relationship.87
Christ satisfies for us by freely going to the Cross. In his human heart,
he offers perfect love to the Father and dies for us. In this way, Jesus makes
up for the offense that our sin has caused. He suffers and dies for us, not
to receive God’s wrath in our place, but as a consequence and expression
of his loving obedience to the Father. Christ expiates our sins by his blood
because of his loving, docile heart. Above all, it is Jesus’ love that pleases
the Father and reconciles us with him. We receive the benefits of this sat-
isfying work because the Crucified Lord acts as head of the Church, and
we are his members.88

85. Fernando Ocáriz, Lucas F. Mateo Seco, and José A. Riestra, The Mystery of Jesus Christ: A
Christology and Soteriology Textbook, trans. Michael Adams and James Gavigan (Portland, Ore.:
Four Courts Press, 2011), 272–77. It should be evident that God the Father did not need the Cross
to save us, just as he did not need to send his Son in the flesh to redeem us (Thomas Aquinas, Sum-
ma theologiae III, q. 1, a. 1). Both the Incarnation and the Crucifixion are his free gift.
86. For a fine exposition of divine love and immutability, see Michael J. Dodds, The Unchang-
ing God of Love: Thomas Aquinas and Contemporary Theology on Divine Immutability (Washing-
ton, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2008). The liturgy alludes to God’s immuta-
bility. See, for example, Common Preface IV (weekdays) in the New Roman Rite: “our praises add
nothing to your greatness.”
87. Perrier, “L’enjeu christologique de la satisfaction (II),” 236–37, 243.
88. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 48, a. 2; Ocáriz et al., The Mystery of Jesus
Christ, 274–75, 281–82. The doctrine of satisfaction can also be found in the Greek Fathers, in-
cluding Maximos the Confessor. See Paul M. Blowers, Maximus the Confessor: Jesus Christ and the

Foundations for t h e Euchar i st 95

 But how is this satisfaction to be received among the faithful? Christ’s
work of satisfaction removed an obstacle to our communion with God.
But the fruits of satisfaction must be applied to us, since they are not au-
tomatically communicated to everyone. These fruits are received through
faith and the sacraments. At baptism, all punishment due to one’s past
sins are taken away.89 Other sacraments also enable us to share in Christ’s
satisfaction. Aquinas links our share in Christ’s satisfaction and merit
with Christ’s Headship.90
Sin merits a punishment. We can also formulate this idea in the fol-
lowing way: sin merits some form of penance. We do such penance in
Lent and in other moments of the liturgical year (such as days of fasting
and prayer). We can make sense of how punishment and penance natural-
ly follow from sin by drawing an analogy with the natural order. A per-
son who misuses his or her natural gifts faces negative consequences. For
example, excessive drinking leads to alcoholism, which does grave harm
to the body. Or if a husband offends his spouse by ignoring her or by en-
gaging in an adulterous affair, he needs to seek forgiveness and to make
up for the offense committed, and he does so by acts of love for his wife
through which he expresses contrition.
The sins that baptized believers commit offend God, as did the sins
they committed before baptism. These acts harm our relationship with
God and diminish our communion with him. Here too, a new share in
Christ’s work of satisfaction restores right relationship with the Father.
Now the grave sinner can do nothing to satisfy for his or her sins, but
must simply receive Christ’s satisfaction via repentance and reconcilia-
tion. Yet once reconciled, the repentant sinner can enact works of pen-
ance whereby he or she shares in Christ’s satisfying work. This is part of
the dignity of believers, namely, to cooperate in their own salvation. Vari-
ous penances enacted in charity become satisfying acts, for they are joined
to the Crucified Lord by faith and love. Such satisfaction, which is always
subordinate to and in dependence on Christ the Head, can be done for
one’s own offenses and those of others.

Transfiguration of the World, Christian Theology in Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2016), 240–44.
89. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 49, a. 3, ad 2.
90. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 48, a. 1.

96 Fou nd ations for t he Euchar i st

 In the next chapter, we will see that the Eucharist as sacrifice allows
for a deeper share in Christ’s merits and satisfaction for sins. Also, since
any merits and satisfaction obtained by the Eucharistic sacrifice are noth-
ing but a share in Christ’s merit and satisfaction, a participation in the
fruits of Christ’s suffering love given to the Father, Eucharistic merit and
satisfaction become modes of receiving a divine gift anew. This recogni-
tion is crucial if we are to avoid a caricature of the theology of satisfaction.

Foundation s for t h e Euch ar ist 97

Th e E u c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice
Th e E u c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice
Ch a p t e r 5

}
THE EUCHARISTIC
SACRIFICE

The Mass is the Church’s daily participation in Christ’s Sacrifice on the

Cross for the life of the world. In the sacred liturgy, the faithful offer
Christ’s body and blood to the Father as the victim who gave himself for
us in his Passion, and from whom the river of life flows into the Church.
The present chapter ponders the link between sacrifice, presence, and
communion. For without the offering of the victim’s body and blood tru-
ly present on the altar, there is no perfect sacrifice, nor can we commune
in Christ as victim (hostia) without his corporeal presence.
The theology of the Mass as a sacrifice has fallen on hard times, both
in the theological academy and in pastoral life. The causes for this change
are varied. Karl Rahner’s optimistic anthropology presented God’s grace
as ­always-already-here. From this perspective, the sacraments primarily
(though not exclusively) become signs of the grace that we have already
received, and the need to offer sacrifice becomes unclear.1 In the early

1. Karl Rahner, “Considerations on the Active Role of the Person in the Sacramental Event,”

98
work of René Girard, Calvary is seen as bringing sacrifice to an end, thus
breaking the cycle of humanity’s long quest for a scapegoat.2 Girard’s phi-
losophy of sacrifice continues to mark liturgical and sacramental studies.
The French Heideggerian theologian L ­ ouis-Marie Chauvet prefers to
center the theme of Eucharistic sacrifice on the existential offering of our
lives and the ethical transformation wrought by liturgical participation
(the sacrifice of love), while minimizing other classical sacrificial themes.
For Chauvet, the New Testament and ­second-century Christians authors
spiritualized sacrifice because they gave the sacrifice of praise and thanks-
giving theological priority.3
The Rahnerian deemphasis on sacrifice might be answered by a full-
er recovery of Pauline anthropology, especially the doctrine of flesh and
spirit in Romans 7. Girard’s reading of the Cross already finds an answer in
our previous chapter. I will return to Chauvet’s theology below. Still, our
contemporaries clearly have immense difficulty with a classical approach
to sacrifice. This challenge especially surfaced during the Protestant Ref-
ormation.
Starting in 1517, Martin Luther issued several strong critiques of the
doctrine of the sacrifice of the Mass. On this question, he greatly influ-
enced all subsequent Protestant leaders. As Florent Urfels argues, Luther’s
exegesis of the Last Supper wholly abstracted from its Passover setting.4
Instead, he interpreted the Last Supper as a last will or testament, in which
Jesus promises the forgiveness of sins, just before going to this death. The
faithful receive this promise through faith. For Luther, we are justified
by faith alone (sola fide), and not by works. Hence, he thought it was er-
roneous to approach the Mass as a good work pleasing to God. Luther

in Theological Investigations, vol. 14, trans. David Bourke (New York: Seabury, 1976), 176; Matthew
Levering, Sacrifice and Community: Jewish Offering and Christian Eucharist, Illuminations: Theory
and Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 22–24.
2. René Girard, Violence and the Sacred (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1984).
3. ­Louis-Marie Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament: A Sacramental Reinterpretation of Christian
Existence, trans. Patrick Madigan and Madeleine Beaumont (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press,
1995), 240–60, 290–316, esp. 302, 310–11; Michon M. Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift: Eucharist,
Grace and Contemplative Prayer in Maurice de la Taille (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Univer-
sity of America Press, 2013), 16–19.
4. Florent Urfels, Pâque du Messie: Introduction à une théologie eucharistique du judaïsme, Col-
lège des Bernardins 20 (Paris: Parole et Silence, 2013), 312–17.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 99
also denied the sacramental priesthood: Christ alone is the priest. That is,
the minister or presider has no particular spiritual power. In the liturgy,
Christ alone acts and we receive his grace. As we hear Christ’s offer of
forgiveness, especially during the praying of the institution narrative, we
respond by accepting this gift with faith, an interior act that we express by
praise and gratitude. The faithful truly receive Christ’s body and blood at
communion, but they do not offer it as a victim to the Father. For these
reasons, Luther rejects the doctrine of the Eucharist as a sacrifice.5 Indeed,
if it were a sacrifice, then the Mass would be a repetition of the offering
of the Cross. But Christ cannot be sacrificed again.6 Luther thus leaves
Catholic theology with a firm challenge.
Vatican II evidently promoted deeper union with our separated breth-
ren. It also ­re-affirmed the Eucharistic teaching of Trent.7 Strikingly, the
Council integrated the theme of sacrifice with its promotion of the laity’s
conscious, active participation in the liturgy. Sacrosanctum Concilium
teaches that the faithful “should take part in the sacred action, conscious
of what they are doing, with devotion. . . . They should give thanks to
God. Offering the immaculate victim, not only through the hands of the
priest but also together with him, they should learn to offer themselves.”8
The text calls for the laity to make a deliberate s­ elf-offering, an act joined
to their and the priest’s sacramental offering of Christ Crucified. Like-
wise, the document recommends that the laity receive communion from
among the hosts consecrated at Mass, rather than those kept in the taber-
nacle: “The more perfect form of participation in the Mass whereby the
faithful, after the priest’s communion, receive the Lord’s Body from the
same sacrifice, is warmly recommended.”9 In this way, Vatican II promotes

5. Martin Luther, The Babylonian Captivity, in Church and Sacraments, the Annotated Luther
Study Edition 3, ed. Paul W. Robinson (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 2016), 40–51; Francis
Clark, Eucharistic Sacrifice and the Reformation (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960), 101, 111–19.
6. George Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast, Current Issues in
Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 102–7.
7. Sacrosanctum Concilium, nos. 7, 47.
8. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 48. For the importance of this passage in Sacrosanctum Con-
cilium, see Jeremy Driscoll, “Sacrosanctum Concilium,” in The Reception of Vatican II, ed. Matthew
Lamb and Matthew Levering (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 34–35.
9. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 55. Vatican II here draws upon Pius XII’s encyclical Mediator
Dei, no. 118, DH 3854.

100 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

liturgical reform partly by appeal to a ­well-established theology of Eu-
charistic sacrifice. The Council draws consequences from that theology,
consequences that previous liturgical practice did not always fully realize.
It thus implies that the renewal of Eucharistic practice, which the Con-
ciliar Fathers so ardently desired, should integrate a classical approach to
sacrifice. Our study of the Councils of Trent and Vatican II later in this
chapter will confirm that claim.
The present chapter begins with the biblical roots of Eucharistic sac-
rifice. I then survey an array of sacrificial themes in the Church Fathers’
teachings on the Eucharist and in some ancient anaphora, with a focus
on eastern Eucharistic prayers. The latter constitute the oldest liturgical
texts, are more numerous than western prayers, and are, at times, sources
for the latter tradition. I also present the central sacrificial themes in the
decrees of Trent. Last, on the basis of these biblical and historical analy-
ses, I offer a theology of Eucharistic sacrifice that draws upon the Thomist
tradition. I conclude by taking a closer look at Martin Luther.

Scripture, History, and Tradition on

Eucharistic Sacrifice
The Sacrificial Offering: Some Biblical Foundations
We have already seen various sacrificial themes in the Last Supper ac-
counts of the Synoptic Gospels and 1 Corinthians, as well as the allusion
to the Last Supper in John 6. Our study raises the following question: Are
these allusions essentially a prophetic teaching about the sacrificial nature
of Christ’s coming death, or do they also point to the sacrificial character
of the Last Supper celebrated in Christ’s memory? Here, I follow up on
three clues from our previous study of the Last Supper. I then turn to the
historical implications of 1 Corinthians to further my argument.
First, by instituting a New Passover, Christ drew a strong link with
the Old Passover celebration. Now, the latter ritual was a sacrifice culmi-
nating in a sacrificial meal. Therefore, the New Passover would seem to be
a sacrifice as well. Second, Jesus’ command to “do this” likely evokes the
priestly ordination of Aaron and his sons, as well as their cultic, sacrificial
acts. If this exegesis is correct, then Jesus specifically commands the apos-

Th e E uc h a r i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 101
tles to offer the Eucharist as a sacrifice.10 Third, the four New Testament
accounts of the Last Supper show that the Christians continued to prac-
tice the separate blessing over the bread and the cups. This act signifies
Christ’s death, specifically, by evoking the separation of the blood from
the victim’s body in temple sacrifices. We thus have a clear sign of the sac-
rificial nature of the cultic deed in question.
The preceding considerations focused on the early Christian celebra-
tion of the Last Supper. We can now turn to 1 Corinthians 10 for addi-
tional evidence. In this passage, Paul explains why Christians cannot par-
ticipate in the worship of idols, a ritual that climaxed in the consumption
of sacrificed meat. Christians are to practice covenant loyalty. One of
Paul’s arguments compares the Last Supper to pagan sacrifices:
The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of
Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?
Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of
the one bread. Consider the practice of Israel; are not those who eat the sacri-
fices partners in the altar? What do I imply then? That food offered to idols is
anything, or that an idol is anything? No, I imply that what pagans sacrifice they
offer to demons and not to God. I do not want you to be partners with demons
(1 Cor 10:16–20).

Through the Eucharist, the faithful commune in the death of Christ, as

they share in his body and blood that was offered on the Cross. The focus
here is not so much on the precise identity of the gifts (i.e., Christ’s cor-
poreal presence), but on the fact that these gifts grant access to the pow-
er of Christ’s death. Overall, Paul’s argument presupposes that a sacred
meal enables communion with God, who is worshipped therein. This
notion finds parallels in the ancient Mediterranean religious world. Paul
also mentions the more important background to his thinking, namely,
the logic of Israel’s sacrifices. In the Old Testament, a sacrifice enables a
shared, sacred meal, which in turn grants spiritual contact with the Lord,
the God to whom one sacrifices, the one who is worshipped (Lv 7:6, 7:15;
Dt 18:1–4). Hence, when one participates in sacrifices made to demons

10. Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2015),
417–20.

102 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

(who hide behind the names of idols), one communes with them and
breaks covenant loyalty.11
Now Paul’s argument in 1 Corinthians 10 works only if in fact the
Eucharist is a sacrifice.12 It is this characteristic that allows him to op-
pose the Last Supper celebration to idolatrous sacrifices. Participation in
Christ’s body and blood involves a sacred meal, indeed, the completion of
a sacrificial meal. Paul contrasts the Lord’s cup with the cup of demons,
and the Lord’s table with the table of demons. George Montague signals
that, in verse 18, Paul uses the term “altar” (thusiastērion). The terms “al-
tar” and “table” were sometimes interchangeable in the Old Testament,
and the central function of Israel’s altars was that of sacrifice.13 Interest-
ingly, Paul never contrasts the Lord’s Supper with the worship of idols
by calling the latter a sacrifice and the former a sacred meal. Instead, the
opposition focuses on the spiritual effect of the two rituals: communion
with Christ or with the demons.14 We will find this theme again in two
important ­second-century Church Fathers.
The Scriptures therefore provide good evidence that the ­first-century
Christians recognized the sacrificial nature of their Last Supper celebra-
tion. We find confirmation of our biblical exegesis in the life of the an-
cient Church.

Jewish Blessings and the Christian Eucharist

As noted in chapter 2, the earliest Eucharistic prayers already imitate
the structure of Jewish meal and synagogue prayers. In fact, these bless-
ings have an intrinsically sacrificial nature, and provide the framework
through which we can better grasp the doctrine of Eucharistic sacrifice.
I will briefly lay out the key themes of Jewish blessings that are directly
related to the Eucharist and sacrifice, following Louis Bouyer.
Jewish synagogue and table blessings (berakoth) essentially involve a

11. Hans Conzelmann, First Corinthians: A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthi-
ans, trans. James W. Leitch, Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Phil-
adelphia: Fortress Press, 1975), 171–73.
12. I owe this point to my teacher and confrere, Gregory Tatum.
13. Is 65:11; Ezek 41:22, 44:16; Mal 1:7–12.
14. See George T. Montague, First Corinthians, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2011), 172, 176–78.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 103
response to God’s word. Having listened to that word, the community
confesses his creative and saving deeds. The blessing centers on God’s cov-
enant. In the background stands the doctrine of God’s efficacious word as
creative and ­re-creative, a word that brings about what it says.15
The ancient synagogue prayers formalized a way of blessing already in-
scribed in various Psalms that accompanied temple sacrifices (e.g., Ps 39).
Jewish table blessings also adopted this structure. The one praying passes
from praise and thanksgiving for God’s creative, saving deeds to an of-
fering accompanied by intercession. The blessing prayer in turn becomes
the means whereby the one who brings the offering consecrates himself to
God. The blessing thus expresses the sacrifice of the heart. This is precisely
what we find in the sacrifice of praise: the manifestation of one’s complete
­self-giving to God (e.g., Ps 51, Hos 14:2).16
The festal meal blessings always enjoyed a special place in Jewish pi-
ety. They were likely employed at the Last Supper. The last blessings of
the Jewish meal ritual find clear echoes in the early Christian Eucharistic
prayers.17 In the blessing used in the ­second-century Jewish Passover rit-
ual (and so probably also used at the Last Supper), the theme of memorial
dominates.18 As Bouyer points out, in Jewish piety, the term “memorial”
signals a confident supplication that God’s powerful word, which worked
wonders in the past, may do so again. Here, the people express an objec-
tive memorial, showing that God remembers his promises. The focus of
this petition lies with the eschatological restoration of Israel.19
In this ritual, the meal becomes inseparable from sacrifice.20 We also
find a close link among various forms of sacrifice, as one proceeds from
praise and thanksgiving to supplication, with prayers that allow the par-
ticipants to express their s­ elf-offering, in expectation of the eschatological
banquet. In the Christian Eucharist, as a memorial of Christ’s Passion,
the gifts on the altar constitute a sacrifice because they become what they

15. Louis Bouyer, Eucharist: Theology and Spirituality of the Eucharistic Prayer, trans. Charles
Underhill Quinn (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), 29–33.
16. Bouyer, Eucharist, 45–47, 78–84.
17. Bouyer, Eucharist, 89–90.
18. Cesare Giraudo, In unum corpus: Traité mystagogique sur l’eucharistie, trans. Éric Iborra
and ­Pierre-Marie Hombert (Paris: Cerf, 2014), 130.
19. Bouyer, Eucharist, 85–86.
20. Bouyer, Eucharist, 464.

104 Th e E u c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

represent, Jesus’ body and blood. This perfect offering in turn brings to
completion the other sacrifices made, namely, praise, thanksgiving, and
each person’s ­self-offering.21
The preceding survey shows that the early Christians did not invent
prayers ex nihilo for their Eucharistic liturgy. Rather, at a time when most
Christians were also Jews, they partly drew upon the most obvious sourc-
es available to them: Jewish synagogue prayers and the table blessings that
made up part of the standard Passover celebration.

The Church Fathers and Ancient Christian

Liturgies on the Eucharistic Sacrifice
The Jewish background that we have studied helps us to grasp why the
ancient Christian liturgies frequently refer to the whole Eucharistic rite
as a sacrifice. Here, the most popular Scripture verse is Malachi 1:11, where
God says through the prophet: “From the rising of the sun to its setting
my name is great among the nations, and in every place incense is offered
to my name, and a pure offering; for my name is great among the nations,
says the Lord of hosts.” The first use of this passage in a Eucharistic set-
ting is found in chapter 14 of the Didache. Apparently, its author sees the
whole Eucharistic liturgy as a pure offering.22
Another early witness to the theology of Eucharistic sacrifice is Justin
Martyr. In his Dialogue with Trypho, he presents the wheat offering in Le-
viticus 14:10 as a prophecy or type of the Eucharistic bread. The Christian
offering of the bread and chalice fulfills the prophecy of Malachi 1:10–12:
the nations will bring a pure offering to God.23 Christ himself taught the
faithful to make this offering in remembrance of him.24 For Justin, the
Eucharistic celebration as a whole, including the prayers and thanksgiv-
ing, constitutes a pleasing offering (thusia) to God.25
21. Bouyer, Eucharist, 465–66.
22. See the summary of different interpretations in Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache: A
Commentary, trans. Linda M. Maloney, Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the
Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1998), 197.
23. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, chapter 41, in The Apology, The Second Apology, Dia-
logue with Trypho, ed. Michael Slusser, trans. Thomas B. Falls, rev. Thomas P. Halton, Fathers of the
Church 6 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2003).
24. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, chapter 70.
25. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, chapter 117. For a summary, see Helmut Moll, Die
Lehre von der Eucharistie als Opfer (Cologne: Peter Hanstein, 1975), 132–36.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 105
 We have already seen that Irenaeus of Lyon links the Christian Eu-
charist with the Last Supper, and that he calls it a sacrifice. In his Treatise
Against Heresies, he refutes the Gnostics, who separate the New Covenant
from the Old. On the contrary, the work of Christ accomplishes the Old
Covenant. Irenaeus insists that the Church’s sacrifice cannot be simply
angelic, cannot simply be a matter of praise and thanksgiving. Rather, hu-
man beings also need a material offering, to bring to God the first fruits
of his creation, in the form of bread and wine that become the body and
blood of Christ. These are offered in thanksgiving to God, for the gifts of
his creation. Here, the sacrificial gift of Christ’s body and blood and the
thanksgiving sacrifice become inseparable.26
The oldest Eucharistic prayers tend to combine several sacrificial
themes. In the Latin version of Hippolytus’s Apostolic Tradition the cele-
brant prays thus after the words of institution:
Remembering therefore his death and resurrection, we offer to you the bread and
cup, giving thanks to you. . . . And we ask that you would send your Holy Spirit in
the oblation of [your] holy church, [that] gathering [them] into one you will give
to all who partake of the holy things [to partake] in the fullness of the Holy Spir-
it, for the strengthening of faith in truth, that we may praise and glorify you.27

Within the setting of memorial, the Church makes an offering of the con-
secrated gifts to God, just as in chapter 41 of Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with
Trypho.28 This act of offering is also an act of thanksgiving. The petition
for the Spirit calls on him to act upon the gifts, which are now identified
as an “oblation,” though the term may also have a broader sense, and thus
include the whole Eucharistic celebration, especially the gifts on the altar.29

26. Irenaeus of Lyon, Contre les hérésies, livre IV, ed. Adelin Rousseau, Sources chrétiennes
100.2 (Paris: Cerf, 1965), chap. 17, no. 5; Antonio Orbe, Introduction à la théologie des IIe et IIIe
siècles, trans. Joseph M. López de Castro, Agnès Bastit, and ­Jean-Michel Roessli, Patrimoines:
Christianisme (Paris: Cerf, 2012), vol. 1, 697, 702. Chauvet argues that the s­ econd-century theolo-
gians essentially spiritualized sacrifice, with a focus on sacrifice as praise, thanksgiving, and moral
practice. Chauvet misses the balance that Irenaeus strikes between spiritual and material sacrifice.
However, Chauvet does not wholly exclude the themes of redemption or expiation from Eucharis-
tic theology. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 257–59, 311–12.
27. I use the edition of Paul Bradshaw, Maxwell E. Johnson, and L. Edward Phillips, The Ap-
ostolic Tradition: A Commentary, Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible
(Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2002), 40.
28. Bradshaw et al., The Apostolic Tradition, 46.
29. Kenneth Stevenson, Eucharist and Offering (New York: Pueblo, 1986), 21.

106 Th e E u c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

When the “holy things” and the Spirit bear fruit in the faithful, they can
again and more fervently praise the Father, source of all gifts. We find the
themes of offering the body and blood, thanksgiving, praise, and the par-
ticipants’ transformation combined in seamless fashion.
Addai and Mari holds together these very themes:
Do Thou, O my Lord, in thy manifold and ineffable mercies make a good and
gracious remembrance for all the upright and just fathers who were pleasing be-
fore thee, in the commemoration of the body and blood of thy Christ, which we
offer to thee upon the pure and holy altar. . . . And we . . . rejoicing and glorifying
and exalting and commemorating and celebrating this great and awesome mys-
tery of the passion, death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.30

Within the setting of praise and memorial, the priest calls for the Spirit
to come upon the oblation, so that it may bring forgiveness of sins. The
blessings imparted in communion allow the assembly to become a liv-
ing sacrifice, evoking Romans 12:1.31 The theme of memorial is pregnant
with sacrificial meaning, as it links the celebration with the mystery of
Christ’s suffering.32
The Maronite Sharar liturgy has affinities with Addai and Mari. It
maintains the emphasis on memorial, but has more elaborate sacrificial
references: “in the commemoration of the body and blood, which we of-
fer to you . . . to sanctify the unclean through your sacrifice . . . [we] offer
this oblation to your divinity . . . and may this oblation be acceptable be-
fore you.”33 The same anaphora calls the offering a propitiatory sacrifice.
Like Irenaeus in his Treatise Against Heresies, it employs the language of
first fruits.
The language of “bloodless offering” or “bloodless service” is omni-
present in the ­fourth-century Eucharistic prayers. In general, it refers to
the whole Eucharistic celebration, including the gifts on the altar (e.g.,
Serapion, the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom).34 Ambrose uses the same
image, but with a more specific reference. His catechesis On the Sacra-

30. Anthony Gelston, The Eucharistic Prayer of Addai and Mari (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1992), pp. 51–55, lines 36–40, 51, 53–55.
31. Stevenson, Eucharist and Offering, 24–25.
32. Bouyer, Eucharist, 156.
33. As quoted by Stevenson, Eucharist and Offering, 58–59.
34. See Stevenson, Eucharist and Offering, 42–52.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 107
ments recounts the Milanese liturgy. It calls the Eucharistic gifts “this
immaculate victim, a reasonable sacrifice, an ­un-bloody victim, this holy
bread, and chalice of eternal life.”35
For Ambrose and other Church Fathers, the sacrifice of the Mass is
one with the sacrifice of the Cross. Writing in the second century, Ter-
tullian refers to communion as a share in the immolated Christ.36 The
notion of sacrament or mystery accounts for the unity of the Mass and
the Cross. Preaching in the fourth century, Cyril of Jerusalem calls the
Eucharist a propitiatory victim.37 This doctrine illumines the omnipres-
ence of prayers asking for the participants’ purification, reconciliation, or
spiritual healing in various ancient anaphora.
Perhaps the classic patristic text on Eucharistic sacrifice is in a homily
on Hebrews 9 (verses 24–26) by John Chrysostom.
What then? Do we not offer daily? Certainly we offer thus, making a memorial
(anamnesis) of his death. How is it one and not many? Because it was offered
once, like that which was carried into the holy of holies. . . . For we ever offer the
same person, not today one sheep and next time a different one, but ever the same
offering. Therefore the sacrifice is one. By this argument then, since the offering
is made in many places, does it follow that there are many Christs? Not at all, for
Christ is everywhere one, complete here and complete there, a single Body. . . . We
do not offer a different sacrifice like the ­high-priest of old, but we ever offer the
same. Or rather we offer the memorial of the sacrifice.38

As Gregory Dix points out, for Chrysostom the unity of the Eucharistic
sacrifice with that of the Cross is crucial. That unity is explained in three
ways: they are joined by having the same offerer (Christ the high priest),

35. Ambrose of Milan, The Sacraments, in Theological and Dogmatic Works, trans. Roy J. Defer-
rari, The Fathers of the Church 44 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1963), bk. 4, chap. 6, no. 27.
36. Tertullian, De Pudicitia, ed. E. Dekkers, chap. 9, no. 11, in Tertullian, Opera Montanistica,
vol. 2, CCSL 2 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1954), 1298, ll. 47–49. For an I­ talian-Latin edition, see Opere
montaniste, vol. 4.2, ed. A. Capone, S. Isetta, S. Matteoli, A. Persic, R. Uglione, Scrittori Cristiani
dell’Africa Romana (Rome: Nuova Città, 2012), 292.
37. Cyril of Jerusalem, “Mystagogical Lecture 5,” no. 8. For the Greek text, see Cyril of Jerusa-
lem, Catéchèses mystagogiques, ed. Auguste Piédagnel, trans. Pierre Paris, Sources chrétiennes 126bis
(Paris: Cerf, 1966), 156–57.
38. John Chrysostom, Homilies on Hebrews, “Homily 17,” no. 3, quoted in Gregory Dix, The
Shape of the Liturgy (London: Dacre Press, 1945), 243.

108 Th e E u c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

the same offering (his body and blood), and the same benefits (purifica-
tion from sin).39
The ­early-fifth-century Syrian theologian Theodore of Mopsuestia
also sees the Eucharistic sacrifice as one with Christ’s Sacrifice on the
Cross. He insists that it is neither a new sacrifice, nor the priest’s deed
alone. Rather, because the Eucharist is a memorial celebration, it is a true
sacrifice.40 The faithful perform a sacrifice along with the celebrant.41
Theodore refers to the sacrificial ritual as a likeness of heavenly realities,
and so signals an intimate connection between the earthly and celestial
liturgy. The Christ who suffered, rose again, and ascended to glory is now
slain in signs or types (en tupois), that is, visibly or sacramentally.42 Me-
dieval Latin theologians such as Albertus Magnus clung to this mystical
notion of signs, as when he refers to “the lamb without spot, which we
daily dedicate at the altar by mysteriously slaughtering him.”43
We can also briefly consider the minister of the sacrifice, a theme to
be taken up more fully in chapter 7. Who offers the sacrifice? We saw
Chrysostom’s answer above. For Ambrose, Christ himself is offered at
Mass, and he is the priest who offers as well.44 Yet the bishop of Milan
also refers to the Church as the offering itself (an application of Rom
12:1). Finally, he implies that Christians themselves are the subject mak-
ing the offering.45 Christ and the Church are thus both the ones making

39. Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy, 244.

40. Theodore of Mopsuestia, “Homily 15,” no. 15, in Theodore of Mopsuestia, Katechetische
Homilien, vol. 1, trans. Peter Bruns, Fontes Christiani 17.1 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1994),
399. See also “Homily 15,” no. 19, p. 404; Johannes Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen
Väter, vol. 1.1: Die Aktualpräsenz der Person und des Heilswerkes Jesu im Abendmahl nach der vor-
ephesinischen griechischen Patristik (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1955), 195.
41. Khaled Anatolios, “Sacraments in the Fourth Century,” in The Oxford Handbook of Sac-
ramental Theology, ed. Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2015), 152–53.
42. Theodore of Mopsuestia, “Homily 15,” no. 20, in Katechetische Homilien, p. 404.
43. Albertus Magnus, On the Body of the Lord, d. 1, chap. 2, trans. Albert Marie Surmanski,
The Fathers of the Church: Mediaeval Continuation 17 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Univer-
sity of America Press, 2017), 49.
44. Ambrose of Milan, De officiis, ed. Mauritius Testard, CCSL 15 (Turnhout, Belgium: Bre-
pols, 2000), bk. 1, chap. 48, no. 239, pp. 88, ll. 61–67.
45. For a ­Latin-Italian edition, see Ambrose of Milan, De incarnationis dominicae sacramento,
ed. Claudio Moreschini, Opera Omnia di Sant’Ambrogio 16 (Rome: Nuova Città, 1979), pt. 1, no.
10, pp. 378–79. For an English translation, see Ambrose, Theological and Dogmatic Works, 222.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 109
the offering and the victim that is brought to God the Father. As Edward
Kilmartin notes, for Ambrose every Mass has a unique sacrificial value.
The Latin Father’s theology has strong roots in the liturgical prayers used
in Milan.46 His catechesis reflects a w
­ ell-established belief of the Church’s
members about the identity and meaning of the Eucharist. Augustine
shows Ambrose’s influence: the whole Christ, both head and body, offers
sacrifice to God in the Eucharist. What the head and his members offer
as an oblation is none other than Christ himself, and they offer it daily.47
Preaching in the same time period, in the eastern Mediterranean, Theo-
dore of Mopsuestia calls the Eucharist an offering brought by the minis-
ters of the New Covenant, who are an image (eikōn) of Christ the high
priest. Indeed, the heavenly high priest continues to act on earth, precise-
ly through his minister.48 Thus, the great theologians of the early Church
witness to the doctrines of (1) Christ as the priest making the offering in
the liturgy, and (2) the Church as the ­co-subject who offers the sacrifice
with her risen Lord.
The ancient Church also witnesses to the doctrine of the Sacrifice of
the Mass by its practice and teaching concerning prayers for the dead. Ter-
tullian states that the Christians offer oblations for the sake of the dead
on the anniversary of their death.49 Cyril of Jerusalem notes that the lit-
urgy includes prayers for the dead, especially by presenting Christ who
was immolated for our sins to God the Father.50 The Anaphora of Serap-
ion asks for the sanctification of the deceased.51 The Syriac Anaphora of
the Twelve Apostles begs that the dead may enter into glory on the day of
judgment. The prayers for the dead remain neatly distinct from the invo-
cation of the saints in heaven, whose prayers are sought on behalf of the

46. Edward J. Kilmartin, The Eucharist in the West: History and Theology, ed. Robert J. Daly
(Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1998), 21.
47. Augustine, De civitate Dei, ed. Bernardus Dombart and Alphonsus Kalb, CCSL 47
(Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1955), bk. 10, chap. 20, p. 294. For an English translation, see City
of God, trans. George G. Walsh and Grace Monahan, The Fathers of the Church 14 (Washington,
D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1963), 153.
48. Theodore of Mopsuestia, “Homily 15,” no. 19, in Katechetische Homilien, p. 403. See also
no. 21.
49. Tertullian, De Corona, ed. Aem. Kroymann, chapter 3, no. 3, in Tertullian, Opera Montan-
istica, vol. 2, CCSL 2, 1043, ll. 19–23.
50. Cyril of Jerusalem, “Mystagogical Lecture 5,” no. 10.
51. Stevenson, Eucharist and Offering, 52.

110 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

pilgrim Church.52 At this stage in the Church’s history and especially in
the Orient, we do not yet find a clear doctrine of purgatory, but the Mass
clearly brings benefits to the faithful departed who are not yet numbered
among the saints.

The Councils of Trent and Vatican II on

Eucharistic Sacrifice
These biblical, liturgical, and patristic considerations confirm one of the
conclusions of chapter 3, namely, that the Eucharistic liturgy essentially is
a sacrifice. In the sixteenth century, in response to Martin Luther and oth-
er Protestant leaders, the Council of Trent reached back to liturgical and
patristic sources as well as to scholastic theology for inspiration.53 Trent
intended to offer a teaching sufficiently broad so as not to canonize one
Catholic theological school’s thought over another.
The Council’s decrees are divided into two sections: doctrinal chap-
ters and canons. The latter are the most important: they offer dogmatic
formula proposed to all the Catholic faithful for their assent. The chap-
ters express the mind of the Council Fathers. They are longer and allow us
to interpret the canons well.
In Trent’s Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass (from the year 1562), the
first canon refuses the notion that the Eucharistic liturgy is not a “true
and proper sacrifice.”54 That is, Eucharistic sacrifice is neither simply a
metaphor nor a s­ econd-class sacrifice. The second canon rejects the no-
tion that, in telling the apostles to “do this in memory of me,” Christ did
not institute them as priests to offer his body and blood. The third canon
proclaims that the Mass is neither simply a sacrifice of praise and thanks-
giving, nor a mere commemoration.55 In other words, it includes the of-
fering of a victim to God. Also, the liturgy does not simply call to mind
Christ’s words and deeds at the Last Supper. A purely subjective or psy-
chological approach to memorial is unacceptable. Finally, the third canon

52. See Bouyer, Eucharist, 205, 285.

53. Erwin Iserloh, “Das tridentinische Meßopferdekret in seinen Beziehungen zu der Kontro-
verstheologie der Zeit,” in Il Concilio di Trento e la riforma tridentina: atti del convengo storico inter-
nazionale, ed. Convengo storico internazionale 1963 (Rome: Herder, 1965), vol. 2, 404–5, 410–12.
54. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, canon 1, DH 1751.
55. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, canons 2–3, DH 1752–53.

Th e E uc h ar i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 111
rejects the idea that the Mass has no propitiatory value for the living and
the dead. Propitiation is made for the forgiveness of sins and satisfaction
for sins.
The canons are strikingly short. The chapters of the decree do much
to illumine the reasoning behind the canons. Perhaps the most important
passage is found in chapter 1:
But, because his priesthood was not to end with his death, at the Last Supper,
“on the night when he was betrayed,” in order to leave to his beloved Spouse
the Church a visible sacrifice (as the nature of man demands)—by which the
bloody (sacrifice) that he was once for all to accomplish on the Cross would be
­re-presented, its memory perpetuated until the end of the world, and its salutary
power applied for the forgiveness of sins that we daily commit—declaring himself
constituted a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek—he offered his
body and blood under the species of bread and wine to God the Father.56

The Council reads the Last Supper as an act of the Christ the High Priest.
That is, Trent interprets the Gospel accounts in connection with the Let-
ter to the Hebrews.57 His offering at Calvary was once and for all (Heb
9:12, 10:10), which is to say that its efficacy endures.58 Because of this ef-
ficacy, the Mass cannot be a new sacrifice, nor bring anything not already
obtained at Calvary. Still, our constitution as a ­soul-body composite
calls for something more than an invisible sacrifice. The Mass represents
Christ’s historical sacrifice. It is a memorial where the saving power of the
Cross is “applied,” language that signals that the spiritual power of the
Mass is wholly derived from the Cross and brought to us via the liturgy.
Trent leaves open the precise nature of representation and memorial.59
Chapter 1 continues:
he offered his body and blood under the species of bread and wine to God the
Father, and under the same signs, gave them to partake of to the disciples (whom
he then established as priests of the New Covenant), and ordered them and their
successors in the priesthood to offer, saying: “Do this in remembrance of me,”
etc., as the Church has always understood and taught.60

56. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chap. 1, DH 1740.
57. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 357
58. Max Thurian, The Eucharistic Memorial, Part 2: The New Testament, trans. J. G. Davis, Ecu-
menical Studies in Worship 8 (Richmond, Va.: John Knox Press, 1961), 7–9.
59. Iserloh, “Das tridentinische Meßopferdekret,” 425–26.
60. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chap. 1, DH 1740.

112 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

Trent thus affirms the sacrificial value of the Last Supper, a doctrine that
was not part of the Church’s dogmatic teaching before Trent, though it
finds precedents in the Church Fathers.61 The Council teaches that the
moment in which the Eucharist is instituted should already be a sacrificial
ritual. Christ does not just give communion to the apostles and command
them to celebrate a sacrifice, he also celebrates that sacramental sacrifice
with them on Holy Thursday.62 Christ institutes the Mass by doing and
saying: he offers the sacrifice, and he commands his disciples to perform
the same sacrifice. Later in chapter 1, the Council teaches that Christ in-
stituted a new Passover in the context of the old Passover celebration.63
Here, we find a biblical response to Martin Luther, who had essentially
interpreted the Last Supper in complete abstraction from the Passover
setting.64
In chapter 2 of the same decree, we read:
In this divine sacrifice that is celebrated in the Mass, the same Christ who offered
himself once in a bloody manner on the altar of the Cross is contained and is
offered in an ­un-bloody manner . . . the victim is one and the same, the same one
now offers himself through the ministry of priests who then offered himself on
the Cross; only the way of offering is different. The fruits of this oblation (the
bloody one, that is) are received in abundance through this u­ n-bloody [oblation].
By no means, then, does the latter detract from the former. Therefore, it is rightly
offered according to apostolic tradition, not only for the sins, punishments, satis-
factions and other necessities of the faithful who are alive, but also for those who
have died in Christ but are not wholly purified.65

The bloody/­un-bloody distinction goes back at least to Cyril of Alexan-

dria and is found in various medieval authors.66 We saw the language of
“­un-bloody offering” in various ancient Eucharistic prayers. Trent great-
ly insists on the unity of the Eucharistic sacrifice and Christ’s offering
on Calvary. This unity ensures the Mass’s power of propitiation, and is
grounded in (1) the identity of the victim, (2) the different mode of the
victim’s presence (bloody/­un-bloody), (3) the presence of Christ making
61. For the patristic background of this teaching, see Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift, 66–69.
62. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 337, 344–60.
63. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chap. 1, DH 1741.
64. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 297.
65. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chap. 2, DH 1743.
66. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 335.

Th e E uc h ar i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 113
a priestly offering at Mass, and (4) the difference in the mode of offering
(as an act). Consequently, the fruits of the Mass flow in abundance.
Trent deliberately left several issues open, because of ongoing debates
among Catholic theologians. The Council did not define whether each
Mass has an infinite value (the Thomist position) or is of limited value
(the Scotist stance). Instead, chapter 2 simply refers to the “most abun-
dant (uberrime) fruit” of the Mass, a compromise formula.67 Finally,
Trent does not appeal to the separate consecration of bread and wine to
argue for the Mass’s sacrificial character.68
The Fathers at Vatican II ­re-appropriated the rich Catholic teaching
on the sacrifice of the Mass, and also reemphasized some liturgical themes
present in the tradition, themes that had been somewhat marginalized in
ecclesial practice and consciousness. At first, the drafting committee for
Sacrosanctum Concilium simply assumed the Tridentine teaching on sac-
rifice and chose not to mention it in the first drafts of the text. The early
versions of the constitution emphasized the Eucharist as a Paschal ban-
quet or meal. This focus soon shifted, thanks to the intervention of several
Council Fathers.69 The result of their intervention can be seen in what may
be the most doctrinally rich passage in the entire dogmatic constitution:
At the Last Supper, on the night when he was betrayed, our Savior instituted the
eucharistic sacrifice of his Body and Blood. This he did in order to perpetuate the
sacrifice of the Cross throughout the ages until he should come again, and so to
entrust to his beloved Spouse, the Church, a memorial of his death and Resurrec-
tion: a sacrament of love, a sign of unity, a bond of charity, a paschal banquet in
which Christ is consumed, the mind is filled with grace, and a pledge of future
glory is given to us.70

Unlike in previous drafts, the theme of sacrifice now introduces the entire
paragraph and offers the framework for the other theological themes.71

67. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chap. 2, DH 1743; Albert Michel, “La
messe chez les théologiens postérieurs au Concile de Trente: Essence et efficacité,” in Dictionnaire
de théologie catholique, ed. É. Amann, vol. 10.1 (Paris: L. Letouzey et Âne, 1928), col. 1247.
68. Iserloh, “Das tridentinische Meßopferdekret,” 421.
69. Dominic M. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery: A Recent Magisterial Develop-
ment concerning the Christological Foundation of the Sacraments, Studia Fribourgensia 121 (Fri-
bourg, Switzerland: Academic Press, 2015), 116–28, 151–52.
70. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 47.
71. My reading of this conciliar text finds support in Cipriano Vaggagini, “Fundamental Ideas

114 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

By implication, the Eucharist is a banquet precisely as a meal consummat-
ing a sacrifice. We see the inspiration behind this teaching when the text,
in line with Trent, mentions the historical root of Eucharistic sacrifice.
The sacramental meal is our share in Christ’s Passover celebration, where
the eating of the victim enables the children of Israel to share in God’s sav-
ing power.72 The subsequent paragraph supports this reading, for we hear
that the faithful should be fed at the Lord’s table, and also offer the sacred
victim (with the priest) to God the Father.73 The Council takes the clas-
sical term “sacred banquet” from the Office of Corpus Christ composed
by Aquinas, and makes it the “paschal banquet.” Joris Geldhof explains:
“The expression . . . involves and interweaves meal and mystery, anthro-
pology and theology, assembly and eschaton, the earth and the eternal,
togetherness and elevation, bodily pleasures and heavenly joy, etc.”74
In paragraph 47 of Sacrosanctum Concilium, we read that the same
sacrifice of the Cross is perpetuated in the Church: we have a unity of
sacrifice between Calvary and the Mass. Again, Vatican II echoes Trent.
In paragraph 47, the text takes up and develops Trent, as the Eucharist
is called a memorial of both Christ’s Passion and his Resurrection. Trent
had spoken of the former theme but not the latter. The sources of Vati-
can II for this change include the liturgical texts (the Roman canon, the
liturgies of St. Basil and St. John Chrysostom) and several Church Fa-
thers such as Melito of Sardis and Augustine.75 Echoes of the great Latin
doctor appear in the mention of certain Eucharistic fruits: a sacrament
and bond of charity, as well as a sign of unity. Both themes were dear to
Augustine.
The text refers to one of Aquinas’s most famous prayers, which the

of the Constitution,” in The Liturgy of Vatican II: A Symposium, vol. 1, ed. William Barauna, trans.
Salvatore Attanasio (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1966), 115.
72. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery, 151.
73. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 48. Paragraph 47 reads the Last Supper as a Passover meal.
The Council takes this exegesis for granted, against the background of Trent and a massive liturgi-
cal tradition. In other words, both Vatican II and constant liturgical tradition supports our exegesis
of the Last Supper, which we discussed in chapter 2.
74. Joris Geldhof, “On Interiorizing the Mystery of the Eucharist: A Reflection on Sacrosanc-
tum Concilium, no. 48,” Questions Liturgiques / Studies in Liturgy 97 (2016): 128.
75. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery, 128, 140–42. See also Gérald de Servigny, La
théologie de l’eucharistie dans le concile Vatican II (Paris: Pierre Téqui, 2000), 147–71; Thurian, The
Eucharistic Memorial, Part 2, 37–39.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 115
Latin faithful still recite at the beginning of Eucharistic adoration: “O sa-
cred banquet, in which Christ becomes our food, the soul is filled with
grace, and a pledge of future glory is given to us.”76 The prayer ends on
an eschatological note, one already present earlier in paragraph 47 (“un-
til he should come again”). Here, the Council Fathers allude to St. Paul’s
instruction to the faithful: “For as often as you eat this bread and drink
this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). The
­post-conciliar reform of the Roman rite reintroduced this acclamation as
a prayer of the people, just as it had been done in the ancient liturgies and
in the eastern liturgies over the centuries. This is a strikingly beautiful re-
covery of a biblical tradition for the Church’s liturgy, of the community’s
confession of Christ’s sacrifice.77
In the teaching of Vatican II, we find a stunning, compact appropri-
ation of the Catholic tradition of Eucharistic sacrifice, and a theological
and pastoral challenge as well. In two paragraphs, the Council Fathers set
out a number of tasks for pastors and theologians. First, how can we re-
cover a biblical and traditional vision of sacrifice in which the meal aspect
is not minimized but integrated? Second, how can we understand and
preach the theme of the Eucharist as a memorial of Christ’s Resurrection,
and not just as a memorial of his Passion? Third, in what way can we plant
the eschatological finality of the Eucharist more firmly in the awareness
of the faithful? I shall answer the first and third questions shortly, and the
second question in chapter 9.

A Systematic Theology of Eucharistic Sacrifice

A Note on Theological Method
The previous considerations help us to articulate the tasks facing a theolo-
gy of Eucharistic sacrifice. We see the objections to a classical theology of
Eucharistic sacrifice, the biblical and historical data for which systematic
theology should account, and the kind of doctrinal balance that should
be sought. A Catholic vision of Eucharistic sacrifice should manifest

76. Magnificat Antiphon for Second Vespers, Office of Corpus Christi.

77. The late Msgr. ­Albert-Marie de Monléon, OP (bishop of Meaux), once told me that the
inclusion of this acclamation stands out as one of the most important liturgical reforms instituted
by Vatican II.

116 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

the complementarity and interplay of various kinds of sacrifices, such as
praise, thanksgiving, and the offering of the victim. Such an approach
would allow us to make sense of the early liturgy’s use of Jewish prayers
of blessing (berakah) and the various kinds of offerings mentioned in
the anaphora. Theology’s task is to show how these sacrifices deepen the
transformation of the assembly into the body of Christ, a frequent theme
in the Eucharistic prayers. Given our findings on the ancient liturgy, the
Fathers, and Trent, we also need to seek an account of how the Mass
brings reconciliation and affects the souls of the deceased. Finally, the-
ology should provide at least a partial explanation of how the Eucharistic
sacrifice remains united with the sacrifice of Calvary, and should illumine
the claims of the Catholic theological tradition concerning this unity.
Systematic reflection on how the Eucharist is a sacrifice gradually
emerged in the Middle Ages. There was no controversy on this matter in
the ancient Church, and little in the medieval period, as everyone accept-
ed the sacrificial character of the Mass. Extensive reflection on the issue
began during the Protestant Reformation, when it naturally took on an
apologetic aim. One of the more important ­sixteenth-century Catholic
voices was Thomas Vio Cardinal Cajetan. The Italian Dominican took
Aquinas’s scattered comments on the topic and developed a more explicit
synthesis that could respond to the concerns of Martin Luther.78 Writing
shortly before Vatican II, Journet proposed a synthesis on the foundation
of Aquinas, Cajetan, and the Council of Trent. Journet would go on to
assist at Vatican II as bishop and cardinal.
I center my systematic account of Eucharistic sacrifice on Aquinas’s
teaching, and this for several reasons. First, his doctrine exercised much
influence on Trent, the Council that has left us the most extensive mag-
isterial teaching on sacrifice. Second, Thomas’s doctrine enjoys a certain
simplicity that was sometimes lost in the subtle Eucharistic theories of

78. For an English translation of Cajetan’s responses to Luther on the Eucharist, see his trac-
tates “Errors on the Lord’s Supper (1525)” and “The Sacrifice of the Mass: Against the Lutherans
(1531),” in Jared Wicks, Cajetan Responds: A Reader in Reformation Controversy (Washington,
D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1978), 153–74, 189–200. For the Latin of the latter
text, see “De Missa Sacrificio et Ritu, adversus Lutheranos, ad Clementem VII,” in Opuscula Om-
nia (Venice: Apud Iuntas, 1712), 218–20. For an earlier treatise of his, see “The Celebration of the
Mass,” in Heiko Augustinus Oberman, Forerunners of the Reformation: The Shape of Late Medieval
Thought, trans. Paul L. Nyhus (London: Lutterworth Press, 1967), 256–78.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 117
early modern scholastic authors. Third, his thought is tightly interwoven
with other doctrinal themes, especially his Christology. Fourth, by look-
ing beyond his formal treatment of the Eucharist in the Summa theologi-
ae, we find resources to integrate the theme of interior or spiritual sacri-
fice so dear to the Fathers and the liturgical tradition. Overall, my aim is
to account for Scripture as well as the liturgical and conciliar traditions,
without positing rupture in tradition, yet without pretending that Aqui-
nas and Trent solve all theological problems.
In the following pages, I first look at sacrifice in general from an
­Augustinian-Thomistic perspective. I then turn to a few specific aspects
of Eucharistic sacrifice: the Mass as an action that images the Cross and
Resurrection; the presence of the victim who suffered for us; Christ the
high priest offering himself; the joint priestly action of Christ and the
Church in rendering exterior and interior sacrifice; the fruits of the sacri-
fice as an offering; and finally, communion as completing and sharing in
the sacrifice.

Sacrifice in General
We first need to consider some general descriptive definitions (in the plu-
ral) of sacrifice. I will not consider an abstract definition that can be ap-
plied to the biblical and liturgical data. Starting in the sixteenth century,
Catholic theologians have spilled much ink in search of a precise, techni-
cal definition that would apply perfectly to the Cross and the Mass. Inter-
estingly, Aquinas provides a rather technical definition of sacrifice in his
treatment of the virtue of religion, but he does not use it when he speaks
of the Mass. Aquinas employs a descriptive approach, that is, he receives
the New Testament description of the Cross as a sacrifice.79 In fact, he
thereby identifies the nature of the primary analogue from which we can
in turn find the truth and value of all other sacrifices, including the Old
Testament figures.
With Augustine, Aquinas sees sacrifice as an exterior expression of
one’s interior dedication to God. It signifies interior offering or surrender
to God.80 The relation between external and internal sacrifice is crucial.
We already find it at the Cross, where Jesus’ perfect charity is the cen-
79. Clark, Eucharistic Sacrifice and the Reformation, 446, 464.
80. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I­ I-II, q. 85, aa. 1–3; Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift, 35, 41.

118 Th e E u c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

tral aspect of his sacrifice, while his suffering and death both constitute
the external sacrifice and express this charity (they manifest his love in its
ultimate realization). The interior/exterior couplet allows us to integrate
a holistic anthropology: sacrifice is not just a matter of the heart, while
bodily suffering or death alone do not suffice to render a pleasing sacrifice
to God. In this way, we link Christian sacrifice (from worship to ascetical
practices) with Calvary: in each case, charity holds pride of place.
Sacrifice can also be described as the ritual handing over of a sacred
gift to God. It cannot be reduced to making a gift, but rather includes a
specific kind of gift. We note four characteristics of sacrifice in this de-
scription: (1) a ritual setting, (2) an act of handing over, (3) the sacred
character of the gift, and (4) God as the recipient.81 Now to be a sacrifice,
these acts must be freely chosen and intended, for exterior sacrifice is or-
dered to interior sacrifice and draws its value from it. During his earth-
ly life, Jesus continually gave his love to the Father, yet he made formal
sacrifices in particular settings, most especially at the Last Supper and
the Cross. Indeed, the Bible never shows Jesus making a temple sacrifice.
His Passion, including the Cross, fits well this definition of sacrifice, for
the Letter to the Hebrews manifests its ritual or liturgical character. The
Cross was a new sacrifice; indeed, it was one of a kind.82
The terms oblation and offering refer to the ­gift-aspect of sacrifice. In
the Scriptures, sacrifice need not include immolation (e.g., Old Testa-
ment grain offerings). Offering is essential to sacrifice, but immolation is
not necessary in every type of sacrifice. The Eucharist is an offering and
includes immolation.83 To offer something is to bring a gift to God. Im-
molation means to renounce something, even to destroy a victim: Jesus
immolated himself on the Cross.84 In the Mass, Christ is sacramentally
immolated, for he is immolated by means of the signs that make present
the fruits of his immolation (on the cross). This is the heart of our offer-
ing.85

81. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae ­II-II, q. 85, a. 3, ad 3; Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift, 41.
82. Eugène Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 7th ed. (Paris: Beauchesne, 1944), 299. Michel, “La
messe,” 1279–83.
83. Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift, 43–46; also Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 83, a. 1.
84. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 2–3, 297, 326, 329.
85. Anscar Vonier, A Key to the Doctrine of the Eucharist (Eugene, Ore.: Assumption Press,
2013), 160.

Th e E uc h a r i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 119
 A gift or victim is offered to God so that it may be accepted by him.
Such acceptance denotes that the favor requested in the sacrifice will be
obtained, according to God’s will. The Father’s acceptance of the Sacrifice
of the Cross was signified by the rending of the temple veil at the moment
of Jesus’ death, and even more so by his Resurrection and Ascension (see
the Letter to the Hebrews). God freely obliges himself to enter into a gift
exchange. By his acceptance, the gift is returned and we partake in it.86
Such partaking occurs by communion: the sacred meal consummates the
sacrifice and depends on it.
We have seen a series of key themes: interior and exterior sacrifice, a
ritual setting, an exchange of gifts, the offering and immolation of a vic-
tim, and communion in the offering. Aquinas has a theology of praise
and thanksgiving in his study of sacrifice in general, but he does not ex-
tensively integrate this with his Eucharistic theology. I shall draw upon
­twentieth-century theologians such as Charles Journet and Eugène Ma-
sure to propose such an integration. This kind of endeavor fits well with
Aquinas’s Augustinian approach to sacrifice.
As we proceed to the heart of our systematic account, we should keep
two distinctions in mind. The first has already been mentioned: the in-
terior and exterior sacrifice. These do not stand in tension, and keeping
each of them integrated in our theology of sacrifice will overcome many
problems. The second distinction is between the Eucharist as sacrament
and as sacrifice. Aquinas explains: “This sacrament is simultaneously sac-
rifice and sacrament; but it has the nature of sacrifice inasmuch as it is
offered up, and the nature of sacrament inasmuch as it is received.”87 As a
sacrament, the Eucharist is in the order of sanctification, of God pouring
out grace. As a sacrifice, the Eucharist is in the cultic order of our relation
to God, our upward movement to him that is made possible by the sac-
rament.88 Sacrament and sacrifice are closely linked but not identical: in
the first, Christ acts through the priest to bring us his body and blood,
while in the second, the Church renders worship to God. There simply is
no reason to separate these distinct and central aspects of the Eucharist.

86. Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift, 47–51.

87. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 5.
88. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 60, a. 5; q. 79, a. 1.

120 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

The Sacrifice as Representation
Thomas’s theology focuses on the theme of the Mass as an image of the
Cross.89 In his Summa theologiae, he asks whether Christ is immolated in
the Eucharist. He answers thus:
The celebration of this sacrament is called a sacrifice for two reasons. First, be-
cause, as Augustine says (Ad Simplician, book 2), “the images of things are called
by the names of the things whereof they are the images; as when we look upon
a picture or a fresco, we say, ‘This is Cicero and that is Sallust.’” But, as was said
above [q. 79, a. 1], the celebration of this sacrament is an image representing
Christ’s Passion, which is His true sacrifice. Accordingly, the celebration of this
sacrament is called Christ’s sacrifice. Hence it is that Ambrose, in commenting on
Hebrews 10:1, says: “In Christ was offered up a sacrifice capable of giving eternal
salvation; what then do we do? Do we not offer it up every day in memory of His
death?” Secondly it is called a sacrifice, in respect of the effect of His Passion: be-
cause by this sacrament, we are made partakers of the fruit of our Lord’s Passion.
Hence in one of the Sunday Secret Prayers (Ninth Sunday after Pentecost) we say:
“Whenever the commemoration of this sacrifice is celebrated, the work of our
redemption is enacted.”90

Aquinas employs traditional language, yet his terminology can be mis-

leading. A picture of Cicero is not Cicero himself, but rather an artistic
creation that recalls Cicero for us. Also, Old Testament rituals likewise
were images of the Cross to come, especially the sacrifice of the paschal
lambs. Yet Old Testament sacrifices were not the same as the sacrifice of
the Cross. Aquinas sees the Mass as something greater. First, he does not
say that the Mass is only an image of the Cross. Second, he evokes the
doctrine of Augustine, for whom image and the reality imaged are not
separate (which is wholly in keeping with the Jewish notion of memori-
al). Third, Thomas strives to show the unity of the Mass and the Cross.
The Eucharist cannot be a separate sacrifice. As Thomas says elsewhere,
“it is called a sacrifice insofar as it represents the Passion of Christ.”91 The

89. The next three sections have especially benefited from the insights of Emmanuel Perrier.
90. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 83, a. 1.
91. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 73, a. 4, ad 3; Bruce D. Marshall, “The Whole
Mystery of Our Salvation: Saint Thomas Aquinas on the Eucharist as Sacrifice,” in Rediscovering
Aquinas and the Sacraments: Studies in Sacramental Theology, ed. Michael Dauphinais and Mat-
thew Levering (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2009), 49. Aquinas’s theology of image also emerges

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 121
passage provides us with an entryway into Aquinas’s theology of Eucha-
ristic sacrifice, yet we need to look elsewhere in his corpus to fill out the
picture.
We should recall a basic theological principle: the sacraments of the
New Covenant effect by signifying. Through words, gestures, and the
use of material realities like water, oil, or bread, we signify or represent
a hidden reality, “the sign of a sacred reality inasmuch as it is sanctifying
man.”92 What is unique about New Covenant sacraments is their fruit-
fulness, their spiritual efficacy. Here, sacramental representation is not
just a sign, but richly metaphysical, indeed mystical, so that the invisible
is rendered present by a visible element, a ritual word and deed. In repre-
senting the Passion, we make that very sacrifice present here and now.93
This does not mean that Old Testament images remain wholly separate
from the saving reality that they signify, yet the Mass offers a richer pres-
ence of the reality being imaged than the rituals of the Old Covenant
did.94
We might note that the theme of efficacious representation takes
nothing away from the rite’s signifying or manifesting function. There is
simply no need to oppose the epiphanic or revelatory aspect of the liturgy
to the efficacy of the sign.95 The analogy between the ritual acts of the
Eucharist and the mysteries of the life of Christ confirms this claim. Also,
the richer the signification, the more marvelous the gift imparted thereby.
Indeed, since the many liturgical signs (word and gesture) should be un-
derstood in relation to each other and to the revelation attained, we may
say that the signification, and so also the gift imparted by those signs, can

in his study of icons, following John Damascene (Summa theologiae III, q. 25). I am grateful to an
anonymous reviewer for showing me this link.
92. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 60, a. 2.
93. Marshall, “The Whole Mystery,” 57; Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 263–64.
94. For signs and presence, see Robert Sokolowski, Eucharistic Presence: A Study in the Theolo-
gy of Disclosure (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1994), chapters 2–3.
For an eastern Orthodox approach to the metaphysics of Christian symbols, see John D. Zizioulas,
“Symbolism and Realism in Orthodox Worship,” in The Eucharistic Communion in the World, ed.
Luke Ben Tallon (London: T&T Clark, 2011), 83–97.
95. Enrico Mazza sets up a false opposition in Thomas between sacramental sign and sacra-
mental presence, figure and truth, representation and the substantial presence of Christ’s body and
blood. Where Aquinas distinguishes yet unites, Mazza separates. See Enrico Mazza, The Celebra-
tion of the Eucharist: The Origin of the Rite and the Development of Its Interpretation, trans. Mat-
thew J. O’Connell (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1998), 207–14.

122 Th e Euc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

never be fully captured by the mind’s gaze, much as God’s names remain
an inexhaustible mystery that we can always ponder anew.
The notion of fruitful representation partly echoes the ancient Jewish
vision of Passover: in the memorial of the first Passover, the Jews begged
God to once again actualize his saving power that was operative in the
Exodus.96 Still, the rites of the Old Covenant did not contain the pow-
er to save or justify (Heb 11:8, 18–19). The Passover ritual is a sign, with
its prayers, gestures, and gifts. Christ’s Passover is the fulfillment of this
sign, and now the sign becomes astoundingly fruitful. He performs the
saving deed in the Last Supper ritual and in the Cross that this ritual pre-
figures.97 He brings to Israel the power of Passover as he ritually enacts it.
For Thomas, the heart or essence of the sacrifice occurs in the conse-
cration: “The representation of the Lord’s Passion is done in the very con-
secration of this sacrament, in which the body ought not to be consecrat-
ed without the blood.”98 For Aquinas, this prayer is the most important
liturgical image of the Passion. First, this prayer said over bread and wine
effects Christ’s bodily presence, so that sacrifice and presence go together.
The one who suffered on the Cross comes to us in his body and blood.
Second, Aquinas emphasizes the importance of the separate consecration
of the bread and wine for sacrifice: “the blood separately consecrated ex-
pressly represents Christ’s Passion.”99 This twofold act sacramentally rep-
resents the separation of Jesus’ blood from his body, that is, the shedding
of his blood unto death. When I say “sacramentally,” I mean by a sign.
More precisely, sacramental representation here also refers to a sign that
contains the hidden, separated substance, the body and blood. Already
in Scripture, the separate blessing of bread and wine as body and blood

96. For a helpful overview of Jewish memorial, see David E. Stern, “Remembering and Re-
demption,” and the response by Richard Taylor, both in Rediscovering the Eucharist: Ecumenical
Conversations, ed. Roch A. Kereszty (New York: Paulist Press, 2003), 1–26.
97. For Aquinas’s appropriation of a biblical notion of memorial, see ­Jean-Pierre Torrell,
Christ and Spirituality in St. Thomas Aquinas, trans. Bernhard Blankenhorn (Washington, D.C.:
The Catholic University of America Press, 2011), 144n43. Here too, Mazza misreads Thomas: see
Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist, 201.
98. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 80, a. 12, ad 3. See also q. 82, a. 10, ad 1; Manfred
Hauke, “What Is the Holy Mass? The Systematic Discussion on the ‘Essence’ of Eucharistic Sac-
rifice,” in Celebrating the Eucharist: Sacrifice and Communion, ed. Gerard Deighan, Fota Liturgy
Series 5 (Wells, Somerset, Great Britain: Smenos / Carrigboy, 2012), 123.
99. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 3, ad 2. See also q. 76, a. 2, ad 1.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 123
in the Passover setting has strong sacrificial connotations.100 As noted
previously, the Eucharistic sacrifice is essentially both an oblation and an
immolation. The latter is precisely what we see signified, represented and
thus realized in the consecratory words and gestures just mentioned. The
sacrificial nature of Christ’s death finds expression not just by a separate
reference to his body and blood, but also in other details of the conse-
cratory prayer: his body is given for us, his blood will be poured out for
many.101 The rite is a sign of the Passion, a sign that contains the reality
being represented.102 The Eucharist as sacrament grounds its sacrificial na-
ture: because of Christ’s sacramental presence, we can speak of a sacrifice.
Yet there is more to the sacrifice than just the presence of Christ as victim.
The Mass also represents Christ in the acts of celebrating the Eucha-
rist, for the priest says “This is my body,” not “This is Jesus’ body.” The Mass
images Christ at the Last Supper. The liturgy also represents the crucified
Lord offering himself to the Father (as manifested in Hebrews). That is,
we have a twofold representation. Clearly, when the Mass signifies, it ef-
fects what is being signified. As Bruce Marshall says, “Christ is present in
the Eucharist precisely as he is represented by it.”103 The visible priest’s act
of offering at the altar becomes an efficacious intercession for the world’s
salvation, because it is part of the representation of the Passion.
Aquinas and Trent focus the language of memorial on the Passion.
Here, they continue an ancient tradition (going back to Melito of Sardis)
that centered the theme of Christ’s Passover on his Passion. Another tradi-
tion (which includes Augustine) sees Christ’s Passover as his passing to the
Father, so that it includes his Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension. The
Eucharist is the memorial of all three mysteries, a theme reemphasized in
Sacrosanctum Concilium.104 Yet neither the documents of Vatican II nor
100. Thurian, The Eucharistic Memorial, Part 2, 51–52.
101. The doctrine that the separate consecration of bread and wine signifies the Passion and
Death of Jesus can be found in the writings of Church Fathers and has gained widespread theologi-
cal acceptance over the centuries. For one patristic example, see Gregory of Nazianzen, “Letter 171,”
in Briefe, ed. Michael Wittig, Bibliothek der Griechischen Literatur 13 (Stuttgart: Anton Hierse-
mann, 1981). For an overview, see Hauke, “What Is the Holy Mass?,” 123; Michel, “La messe,” 1247.
102. This likely explains why Aquinas prefers the term “representation” over that of “image”
or “sign,” even as he employs all three terms. “Image” emphasizes the alterity of the reality imaged,
while “sign” might give the theme of memorial a strictly intentional meaning. Representation fits
best with a hidden, substantial presence.
103. Marshall, “The Whole Mystery,” 50.
104. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 47.

124 Th e E u c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

the conciliar debates tell us much about the intention behind this lan-
guage.105 Dominic Langevin fills in this lacuna by applying some principles
of Thomistic sacramental theology. The liturgy signifies Christ’s Resurrec-
tion. For example, in the new Roman rite, the Pauline memorial acclama-
tion after the words of institution have the people “confess your [Christ’s]
Resurrection, until you come again.” Here, Jesus is addressed as risen and
ascended.106 Then, the priest goes on to invoke the memorial of Christ’s
Resurrection and Ascension. Similar prayers are found in other anaphora,
including the Liturgies of St. Basil and St. John Chrysostom: The Passion,
Resurrection, and Ascension are indicated together, as a kind of unbreak-
able unity. By signifying these mysteries, the liturgy becomes a fruitful me-
diation of their saving power. Christ’s ­self-offering was accepted by the Fa-
ther at Calvary.107 This divine acceptance was most powerfully manifested
in his Resurrection and Ascension. In the Roman canon, the mention of
the memorial of the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension leads straight to
the liturgical prayers asking God to accept our sacrifice today, as the priest
begs the Father to send his angel to take our sacrifice to his heavenly altar.
Because of the Resurrection, these prayers presume that the sacrifice is al-
ready acceptable.108 The memorial of Christ’s Resurrection manifests the
efficacy of the Eucharistic sacrifice.

The Paschal Lamb on the Altar

A true Eucharistic sacrifice presupposes the presence of the saving victim.
I have already discussed this theme from the perspective of representa-
tion. I now ponder the link between Christ’s substantial presence and sac-
rifice in a more direct way.
The Mass makes present the body that suffered on Calvary and the
blood that was shed on the Cross.109 Yet the one whose body is present at
Mass is not suffering now. Rather, what is present is the resurrected, glori-
fied Christ. Aquinas accepts the following theological principle: Christ’s

105. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery, 128–42.

106. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery, 273.
107. Hence, following a universal ancient and medieval tradition, Christ descends trium-
phantly to the limbo of the just on Holy Saturday and leads them to heaven. This is possible only if
the sacrifice of the Cross was a complete sacrifice, one accepted by the Father.
108. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery, 275–76.
109. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 73, a. 5, ad 2.

Th e E uc h a r i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 125
substantial presence in the Eucharist is according to his actual, current
existence.110 Since he now abides in glory, the glorified substance of his
flesh and blood are found on the altar. There we have the same body that
suffered in the past and is now glorified.111 That is to say, we are not deal-
ing with time travel.
There is a good biblical reason to hold that the glorified Christ comes
to us on the altar. In John 6, Jesus promises the gift of his flesh and blood
as food and drink, but in their glorified form. In verses 62–63, Jesus re-
sponds to the disciples who are stunned by his invitation to eat his flesh
and drink his blood by asking them: “What if you were to see the Son of
man ascending to where he was before? It is the Spirit that gives life, the
flesh is of no avail.” Jesus refers to his future exaltation, to his Resurrec-
tion and Ascension, for the Holy Spirit will raise Christ from the dead,
rendering him immortal and his body impassible.112 This passage as well
as John 6:54 point to the link between our future bodily resurrection and
the consumption of Christ’s flesh and blood. By implication, the gift con-
sumed has already been glorified, and so renders our bodies like his.
Still, we can also say that at Mass Christ is present as victim. Indeed,
we must say it, for this is how the liturgy refers to the sacrament. Augus-
tine speaks of the liturgy thus: “Has Christ not been sacrificed once in
himself, and yet in the mystery he is sacrificed for the people, not only
during all the solemnities of Easter, but every day.”113 Augustine’s lan-
guage is perfectly accurate, and this for at least three reasons. First, the
one who suffered is corporeally present. It is the same body, for his resur-
rected body is not a whole new body, as the marks of his Passion remain.
Second, he is represented as immolated, as we hear in various Eucharis-
tic prayers, but especially as signified in the separate consecration of the
body and blood. Such signification already began in the time of Israel, as
Aquinas explains: “in all the sacrifices and offerings of the ancients, the
110. Marilyn McCord Adams, Some Later Medieval Theories of the Eucharist: Thomas Aquinas,
Giles of Rome, Duns Scotus and William Ockham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 85–86;
Charles Journet, The Mass: The Presence of the Sacrifice of the Cross, trans. Victor Szczurek (South
Bend, Ind.: St. Augustine’s Press, 2008), 61–71.
111. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 81, a. 3; Journet, The Mass, 62.
112. Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper, 214–15.
113. Augustine, “Letter 98,” no. 9, in Letters 1–99, trans. Roland Teske, The Works of Saint
Augustine 2.1 (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 2001). For the Latin, see Augustine, Epistulae
56–100, ed. Kl. D. Daur, CCSL 31A (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2005), 233.

126 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

res et sacramentum in the Eucharist was signified, which is also signified
by the paschal lamb, namely, Christ himself, who offered himself to God
the Father as an offering and victim on our behalf.”114 The priest and the
Church immolate Christ, for they offer the separated body and blood to
the Father. As this is done in a sacramental mode, the immolation remains
u­ n-bloody.115 Third, the benefits of the immolation are brought to us by
the Eucharistic sacrifice, especially a new share in Christ’s love, as well as
the forgiveness of and satisfaction for sins.
It is important to see that the Eucharist does not involve time travel to
Calvary.116 Christ suffered in his human nature, so that his bloody sacri-
fice was a temporal act, which has come to an end with Jesus’ death. The
Passion is not an eternal event, even though the divine person of the Son
is the subject that suffers on the Cross.

The High Priest in our Midst

The Eucharistic Sacrifice is carried out today by Christ the High Priest,
together with the Church. I have already considered this theme from
the perspective of representation. I now take up its other key character-
istics. I begin with Christ’s priestly offering in the New Testament and
then proceed to his priestly act in the liturgy. Here, the theological stakes
can be shown well by comparing the approaches of Aquinas and his
­near-contemporary John Duns Scotus. The aim of our study is to show
the unity of Christ’s sacrificial act with the Church’s. As Aquinas states:
“The sacrifice, which is offered daily in the Church, is not other (aliud)
than the sacrifice that Christ himself offered.”117 This theme leads us to

114. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Sentences, Book IV, d. 8, q. 1, a. 2, quaestiuncula 2, ad

6, in Commentary on the Sentences, Book IV, Distinctions 1–13, trans. Beth Mortensen, Latin/English
Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 7 (Green Bay, Wisc.: Aquinas Institute, 2017), 336.
115. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 325, 329.
116. Inspired by Odo Casel, Cesare Giraudo argues that the Eucharistic sacrifice does not
make the past event of Calvary present to us, but rather makes us present to that event, via the lit-
urgy’s sacramental representation. He also describes the historical past (Calvary) as being elevated
into an eternal present (In unum corpus, 532–34). Giraudo derives his understanding of sacramental
representation directly from his exegesis of the Old Testament Passover (In unum corpus, 87–102).
In my view, Giraudo’s notions of presence and time remain obscure. His theology of memorial and
representation seems to be an interpretation of Scripture, without any philosophical mediation,
which may account for the ambiguity of his theory. But Scripture alone does not offer a complete
theology of time: for this, we need metaphysical theology.
117. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 22, a. 3, ad 2.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 127
ponder a twofold representation of Christ’s priestly act, at the Last Sup-
per and on the Cross. The latter theme takes us to the question of the
suffering Christ’s prophetic and beatific knowledge as a means of personal
contact with the liturgy today, a contact that includes each believer who
participates therein.
At the Last Supper, Christ offered his body and blood to the Father.
This ­un-bloody sacrifice in the Upper Room was a sacramental offering
that anticipated his perfect s­ elf-offering at Calvary.118 By separately con-
secrating bread and wine, Christ signified his coming death. By consecrat-
ing these gifts distinctly as his body and blood, he made a sacrifice.119 For
by this act, Christ not only signified his death, he also held the body and
blood in his hands and offered it to the Father. The sacrificial sign was
filled with the reality signified: the body and blood of the Son about to be
given over unto death.
Likewise, the Church’s sacrifice presupposes the presence of the vic-
tim, which comes about through the consecration. Now at the consecra-
tion, the priest is Christ’s sole instrument, meaning that the people do
not consecrate. But this prayer enables the priest and the people to offer
Christ the victim (exterior sacrifice) together with their (and Jesus’) love
and praise to God (interior sacrifice). In the offertory of the Roman rite,
the priest completes the offertory and invites the people: “Pray brethren,
that this my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty
Father.” The priest and people perform the offering in distinct yet insepa-
rable modes, and Christ’s priestly presence enables both.120
Aquinas and a long line of medieval and modern theologians identify
the heart of the Eucharistic sacrifice with the words of institution: “by the
consecration of this sacrament, sacrifice is offered to God.”121 Starting at
the consecration, the priest and, through him, the people, can make a per-
fect offering to the Father. However, Aquinas does not limit the sacrifice
to the consecration. Nowhere does he exclusively identify the consecra-
tion with the sacrifice. Also, he describes how other parts of the liturgy
118. Vonier, A Key to the Doctrine of the Eucharist, 112.
119. Marshall, “What Is the Eucharist?,” 515.
120. Journet, The Mass, 96–106.
121. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 10; Joseph Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik
in sieben Büchern, 7th ed., vol. 3., Wissenschaftliche Bibliothek, Series 1: Theologische Lehrbücher
22 (Paderborn, Germany: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1922), 312–13.

128 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

represent the Passion, such as the priest’s extension of his arms in prayer
and the fraction rite.122 We can add that communion in the victim is es-
sential for sacrifice, as we will see shortly.123
Catholic theology seeks to demonstrate how the sacrifice of the Mass
is one with Calvary, and it would give a stronger account if it could show
that the sacrificial act of offering at Mass is also immediately Christ’s
priestly act. Such a theological demonstration would illumine or unfold
the teaching of Trent, which states: “the same [one] now offers himself
through the ministry of priests who then offered himself on the Cross;
only the manner of the offering is different.”124 But how does he offer with
them? The basis for the unity of the Cross and the Mass is found in the
consecration. But how does Christ consecrate at Mass? Two major theo-
logical schools have proposed answers, and both are allowed by Trent. I
refer to the Scotist and Thomist traditions.
The l­ate-thirteenth-century Franciscan John Duns Scotus does not
deny that Christ himself offers the sacrifice of the Mass in some way, but
he excludes the notion that Christ is the one who immediately offers the
sacrifice. Scotus appeals to Hebrews 9:22, which teaches that Christ of-
fered himself once. The English Franciscan holds that Christ does not
offer himself again, except through the Church acting as the principal
offerer.125 In the liturgy, Christ offers mediately or indirectly, in that he
instituted the sacrament, and in that the sacrifice is done in his name. The
Church in turn delegates this task to the priests.126 Now, since the priest
and the Church make an act of offering that is separate from Christ’s, Sco-
tus seems to multiply sacrifices, which is precisely what Hebrews rejects.
Yet his account is simpler and metaphysically easier to justify than the
Thomist approach.
John Duns Scotus’s theology of the priesthood undergirds this ac-

122. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 7; q. 83, a. 5, ad 5.

123. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 4.
124. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chapter 2, DH 1743. See also Sacro-
sanctum Concilium, no. 7.
125. John Duns Scotus, Quodlibet, q. 20, a. 2, no. 3, in Opera Omnia, vol. 2.1, ed. Giovanni
Lauriola (Bari, Italy: Alberobello, 1999), 460.
126. Richard Cross, Duns Scotus, Great Medieval Thinkers (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1999), 145. Some Scotists affirm that Christ does principally offer the Eucharistic sacrifice, but in
the sense that the Church’s and the priest’s will are subordinate to Christ’s. See Clark, Eucharistic
Sacrifice and the Reformation, 336–37.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 129
count of Eucharistic sacrifice. He does not see the priest as a metaphys-
ical instrument of Christ. For Aquinas, ordination causes a metaphysical
modification of the priest’s soul: the sacramental seal or character makes
the priest an effective instrument of Christ the high priest. But for Scotus,
the sacramental character is simply a modification of the priest’s will, as
he takes on a moral obligation to do God’s will.127 At the consecration,
the priest says the words of institution, and God simultaneously changes
the gift, because of a promise that God has made in the New Covenant.
Here, Christ does not act through the minister, but in parallel with him.
The work of changing the gifts is wholly God’s, as the priest performs a
strictly exterior act.128 The priest acts by himself, in obedience to Christ
and the Church. Therefore, the spiritual value of each Mass is finite, be-
cause of the identity of the one who immediately makes the offering.
Thomists such as Cajetan and Journet argue that each Mass is of in-
finite value, because of how Christ acts and offers through the priest. For
Aquinas, at the consecration Christ is the principal cause moving through
the minister as instrumental cause.129 Christ and the priest act together,
not separately, as the power to change the gifts passes through the minis-
ter’s words, gestures, and intention. The identity of the principal agent of
the consecration and subsequent offering accounts for the limitless value
of the Church’s sacrifice. Aquinas’s explanation is harder to conceive than
that of Scotus, but it builds on a richer Christology.
Thomas takes a similar approach to sacramental efficacy in general,
which he develops by analogy with Christ’s humanity as the efficacious
instrument of grace. That is, just as Christ’s divinity and humanity are
both efficient causes of grace, acting together, the human nature in de-
pendence on the divine nature, without competition or tension, so, by
analogy, the sacramental acts of the Church are efficient causes of grace,
operating in dependence on the Incarnate Word, the principal cause of
127. Jean Galot, La nature du caractère sacramentel: Étude de théologie médiévale (Paris: Des-
clée de Brouwer, 1956), 209–12.
128. Irène ­Rosier-Catach, La parole efficace: Signe, rituel, sacré (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2004),
143–44, 155–56. Scotus’s position emerges from the “Covenant theology” approach to sacramental
efficacy. See my essay, “The Place of Romans 6 in Aquinas’ Doctrine of Sacramental Causality: A
Balance of History and Metaphysics,” in Ressourcement Thomism: Sacra Doctrina, the Sacraments
and the Moral Life, ed. Reinhard Hütter and Matthew Levering (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 2010), 136–37.
129. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 4; q. 82, a. 1, ad 1.

130 Th e Eu c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

grace, without competition between him and his instruments. Aquinas’s
doctrine of the priesthood flows from his Cyrilian Christology and his
way of linking Christology with the sacraments. Interestingly, Scotus’s
account of Christ’s saving work essentially limits itself to the themes of
merit and satisfaction. He did not have the kind of access to the Greek Fa-
thers that Thomas enjoyed.130 Overall, the link between Christology and
the sacraments remains fragile in Scotus.
For Aquinas, it is clear that Christ acts through the priest at the conse-
cration. The same cooperative action occurs in the act of offering enabled
by the consecration. Without (1) Christ’s eternal priesthood and (2) val-
idly ordained priests that are true instruments of Christ, the Mass cannot
be the same sacrifice as the sacrifice of the Cross. Because the visible priest
that we see at Mass is only a minister, Jesus can be the one offering the sac-
rifice through him.131 The priest’s act wholly depends on that of Christ.
The consecration makes possible the act of offering, so that one in-
strumental act leads to another. On Holy Thursday, Christ gave to his
apostles the power to celebrate the sacrament of his body and blood. He
also granted them the power to offer with him the same sacrifice that he
offered on Good Friday to the Father. The one who can (instrumentally)
bring the victim to the altar can also offer up that same victim, so that
Christ’s act of consecrating is prolonged in his act of offering, always via
the same instrument.
Christ’s offering at Mass has a twofold historical foundation, namely
the Last Supper and the Passion. In the Upper Room, Jesus prayed, con-
secrated, and sacramentally offered himself to the Father. By “sacramen-
tally,” I mean a sign by which he gave his invisible body to the Father. In
his Passion (especially in his heart, the sacrifice of love that animated the
whole offering), Jesus prayed and gave his human life to the Father in a
natural, ­non-sacramental mode (“natural sacrifice” refers to his physical
passion and death).
Thus, the liturgical representation is twofold, namely, of Christ cel-
130. Scotus’s soteriology focuses on juridical categories, while Thomas balances these with a
metaphysical and mystical approach to the humanity of Christ. This enables Aquinas to propose a
vision of sacramental efficacy that is much closer to the patristic doctrine of the sacraments as mys-
teries than is Scotus’s vision: for Thomas, God’s hidden, saving power is at work within the ritual
itself, indeed, within the words, gestures, and material elements.
131. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 336–37. See also Marshall, “The Whole Mystery,” 59–62.

Th e E uc h ar i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 131
ebrating the sacrament at the Last Supper, and of Christ’s s­elf-offering
in his Passion. Only this double representation makes it possible for the
Eucharistic liturgy to be the sacrifice of Christ. The power to consecrate,
which is the power to transubstantiate, flows from Christ’s action at the
Last Supper. Now taken by itself, the act of transubstantiating bread and
wine into body and blood is not a sacrificial act.132 The making present
of a victim is a necessary but not sufficient condition for the sacrificial
nature of the Mass. The priest consecrates in persona Christi, and he offers
the body and blood in persona Christi.133 By representing Christ’s offering
of charity and his exterior s­ elf-offering (by the substantial separation of
his body and blood), the sacrifice of the Passion is “substantially” pres-
ent: no exterior sacrifice without an interior sacrifice. In his Passion, Jesus
gives his bodily life to the Father as an offering of love, and enables the
faithful to participate in his sacrificial act. All of this is much richer than a
simple reenactment of the Passion.
The previous explanation is highly metaphysical. We also need to
consider Christ’s knowledge or consciousness of the Church’s sacrifice.
Thomas’s Christology allows one to argue that, on Good Friday, the suf-
fering Jesus intentionally offered himself in all Masses. We might see this
intention subtly manifested at the Last Supper, with the combination of
the sacramental offering (the body “given up for you” and the blood “shed
for you”) and the command to “do this.” On the Cross, Jesus carries out
what he promised at the Last Supper. For at the Cross, he consciously
gave himself to the Father in union with the Church who would offer the
same body and blood to the Father in all ages to come.
The crucified Lord could have obtained knowledge of our future sac-
ramental acts via an abundance of prophetic gifts illuminating his human
soul, by his beatific vision, or (more likely) by a combination of both. A
venerable theological stream, from Augustine to our time, holds that, all
through his earthly pilgrimage, Jesus enjoyed the direct vision of the Fa-
ther in the depth of his soul. As Aquinas and many medieval as well as
modern theologians explain, by this vision and a powerful prophetic gift,
he also knew the Church, his disciples to come, and our acts of worship.
Perhaps we need not go as far as Aquinas, who held that the suffering
132. Vonier, A Key to the Doctrine of the Eucharist, 142.
133. Marshall, “The Whole Mystery,” 60.

132 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

Christ knew all future events. Instead, we can posit that he foresaw enough
future acts to accomplish his saving work, so that he gave himself up per-
sonally for each of us, with an intimate knowledge of every human being
for whom he died.134 In his encyclical Mystici Corporis Christi, Pius XII
affirmed that Christ possessed a personal knowledge of each member of
his Mystical Body.135 And Thérèse of Lisieux exclaims in one of her po-
ems: “Remember on the evening of your agony . . . . An angel showed you
this choice harvest and brought joy to your blessed face, Jesus, you who
saw me, amidst your flowers, remember me.”136 The suffering Christ knew
the Church to come in her many sacramental acts of celebrating the Eu-
charist, and could thereby intentionally join his act of s­ elf-offering on the
Cross to hers.137 Now in addition, the ascended High Priest Christ also
offers the Eucharistic sacrifice. By a single interior act of oblation that
continues from the Cross into glory, he offers himself to the Father and
intercedes for us.138 This doctrine, grounded in the Letter to the Hebrews,
best accounts for the patristic description of Christ’s priestly presence at
Mass, as the glorified Lord who now celebrates and offers in the midst of
the Church.139
I have focused on Christ’s priestly action through the instrumentality
of the priest at the consecration. In addition, Jesus enables the Church to
offer the victim to the Father through his minister. The liturgical prayers
indicate that Christ’s sacrifice has become ours. In the Roman canon, just
after the consecration, the celebrant prays: “[we] offer to your glorious
majesty, from the gifts that you have given us, this pure victim, this holy
victim, this spotless victim, the holy bread of eternal life and the chalice of

134. See Simon Francis Gaine, Did the Saviour See the Father? Christ, Salvation and the Vision
of God (London: Bloomsbury, 2015); Thomas Joseph White, The Incarnate Lord: A Thomistic Study
in Christology, Thomistic Ressourcement 5 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of Amer-
ica Press, 2015), chap. 5.
135. Pius XII, Mystici Corporis Christi, Encyclical Letter, June 29, 1943, no. 75.
136. Thérèse of Lisieux, Poésies, no. 24, in Fr.-M. Léthel, L’amour de Jésus: La christologie de
sainte Thérèse de l’Enfant Jésus, Jésus et ­Jésus-Christ 72 (Paris: Desclée, 1997), 235 (translation by
the author).
137. Réginald ­Garrigou-Lagrange, “An Christus non solum virtualiter sed actualiter offerat
Missas quae quotidie celebrantur,” Angelicum 19 (1942): 108, 113.
138. Réginald ­Garrigou-Lagrange, De eucharistia, accedunt de paenitentia: Questiones dogmati-
cae, Commentarius in Summam theologicam S. Thomae (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1943), 294–98.
139. See Augustine, City of God, bk. 10, chapter 20. See also chapter 8, below, on the minister
of the Eucharist.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 133
everlasting salvation.”140 The Church’s gifts of bread and wine become his
body and blood.141 The Mass is not just the priest’s sacrifice done for the
Church, but also the whole Church’s sacrifice: the universal sacrament of
salvation acts through her priest. Now while her sacrifice has its center
in the consecration, it is not limited to that moment. For the Church al-
ready brings her offering of praise, thanksgiving, and adoration from the
very beginning of Mass. The victim on the altar constitutes the ultimate
expression of this interior offering that the liturgical prayers and gestures
manifest, both before and after the consecration. That the Church can of-
fer the victim is crucial for her sacrifice (enacted all through the liturgy)
to be acceptable to God.142
I offer one final comment on the unity of the sacrifice. As noted,
Christ makes the offering at Mass by way of representation. The Church
shares in this act through the minister. The Mass constitutes an applica-
tion or making present today of Christ’s one s­ elf-offering. Each Eucharis-
tic liturgy is new, in the sense that Christ’s sacrifice becomes present now.
We repeat the representation of the Passion, which enables the Church to
join herself to Christ’s offering. Her participation in the act of offering is
renewed, but Christ has already completed that offering.143 What is new
is the sacramental celebration, as representation makes present the victim
and fruits of the one natural, ­non-sacramental sacrifice.

Christ the Head and the Church Offer Love

and Praise to the Father
Because Christ’s ­self-offering remains active at Mass today, the Church
obtains immense blessings. The Thomist tradition holds that the Eucha-
ristic sacrifice has infinite value, since the power of Christ’s ­self-offering
in his Passion becomes operative by the minister at the altar. The reason
is that, in the liturgy, the minister and the Church are simply Christ’s in-
struments, so that Jesus’ sacrificial act determines the objective value of
the Mass. Yet the fruits that the Church actually receives from each Mass

140. New Roman rite. The ancient Roman canon is essentially the same (Bouyer, Eucharist,
239).
141. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 310, 316, 334.
142. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 308–9, 331.
143. Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik, 3:309.

134 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

are measured by the degree of the Church militant’s love and devotion.144
For this reason, the subjective value of the Mass, in the sense of the bless-
ing actually received, remains finite and varies.145 In addition, the em-
phasis of Eucharistic prayers (especially the Roman canon) on particular
intentions implies that some persons receive greater benefit than others
from a single Eucharistic offering. The Mass concretizes and particularizes
the saving work of Christ in history.146
In his Passion, Jesus gave to the Father the perfect gift of love and
praise. This interior sacrifice animated his suffering: his obedience gave
his death its salvific value. His passion and death manifested this per-
fect interior offering. Together, the interior and exterior sacrifice made
during his Passion became a single offering of endless value. There, Jesus
interceded for all of humanity and obtained all the supernatural blessings
which the Father would bestow on us, including forgiveness of sins and
satisfaction for the debt of sin. In heaven, Christ the High Priest contin-
ues to intercede for us and to give to the Father an offering of love. In the
third preface of Easter of the Roman rite, the priest echoes the Letter to
the Hebrews as he prays to the Father: “he [Christ] never ceases to offer
himself for us, and defends us and ever pleads our cause before you.” Jesus’
heavenly sacrifice of praise and prayer of intercession obtain no new merit
or satisfaction. Rather, they continually render present before the Father
and in the Church the saving power of his Passion.
All through the Mass, and in a particular way in the Eucharistic
prayer, the Church joins herself to her mystical head in loving adoration
of the Father. Sacrosanctum Concilium teaches: “every liturgical cele-
bration, because it is an action of Christ the Priest and of his Body, the
Church, is a sacred action surpassing all others.”147 Here, we are no longer
focused only on the crucified Lord offering himself with the Church, but

144. Devotion is a technical term that signifies readiness to serve God. It is the principal act of
the virtue of religion (Summa theologiae ­II-II, q. 83, a. 15).
145. Journet, The Mass, 97–98, 126. Journet presents the doctrine of the Thomist school,
founded on texts such as Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 5 (cited in the next sec-
tion), which refers to the infinite value of the oblation.
146. The objective value of the Mass should not be determined solely on the basis of the prin-
cipal cause of the offering, but also on the basis of its instrumental cause: the instrument particu-
larizes the sacrifice, applying it to concrete intentions. Also, one should not presume that Christ’s
sacrifice is a potential universal cause of salvation that is actualized only through particular Masses.
147. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 7.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 135
also on the presence of the glorified High Priest at Mass.148 On Golgotha,
Jesus consciously joined his own sacrifice of love, praise, and intercession
to ours today (by prophetic insight and his beatific vision). The Mass
also allows us to participate in the heavenly liturgy, where Christ and all
the saints glorify the Father. It is crucial to keep both elements together,
namely, the sacerdotal actions of the crucified Christ and the intercession
of the risen Lord.
In the liturgy, the Church’s love and adoration constitute part of the
great sacrifice, by her hymns, prayers, and gestures. Here, interior and ex-
terior sacrifice become inseparable. The Church’s love expresses itself in
the offering of bread and wine. The gifts exteriorize and complete this lov-
ing submission to God (or devotion in the technical sense): the interior
offering reaches completion in the exterior offering, for man is insepara-
bly soul and body. The sign of bread and wine become Christ himself, the
perfect exteriorization of the charity of his members. Here, the Church’s
single offering (interior and exterior) is joined to Christ’s one s­ elf-offering
(interior and exterior). The Church’s sacrifice of love and praise are made
possible by the power of the rite itself.149 Now she offers her love and
praise only in union with her head. That is, her interior offering must be
one with his. The Church brings nothing that is strictly her own to the
liturgy, but only a more or less intense participation in Christ’s charity.
All of her charity is made possible by his gift.
The Church prays with Christ to the Father. Before and after the con-
secration, the celebrant speaks in the fi ­ rst-person plural, for he acts in
persona ecclesiae, in the person of the Church. Here, the Bride of Christ
speaks, yet the liturgy also continues to represent Christ, thus anchoring
the Church’s prayer in his sacrifice, for Jesus offers insofar as he is repre-
sented.150 The ancient Church allowed only the baptized to remain for
the Eucharistic prayer, a practice that has partly returned since Vatican II,
with the dismissal of the catechumens and candidates after the Gospel.
All who are present should be disposed to assent to the “we” of the Eu-
charistic prayer. Through the celebrant, all the baptized present at Mass
and the whole Church militant pray to the Father. In the Roman canon,

148. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 8.

149. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 308–9, 331–33, 336.
150. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 33.

136 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

before the consecration, the celebrant says: “Lord, we pray, graciously ac-
cept this oblation of our service, that of your whole family.” In the litur-
gy, the whole Church, not just those members physically present at Mass,
makes an offering of love.
The Church’s act of sacrifice always occurs in dependence on Christ
the High Priest. Yet he acts in the liturgy in distinct modes. In the priest’s
consecration and simultaneous offering of the victim to the Father,
Christ’s act is constant, that is, it simply occurs through the liturgical act.
But the Church’s sacrifice of charity varies by the degree to which she par-
ticipates in Christ’s sacrifice of charity. Her offering is never autonomous,
but the fervor of her charity can be greater or less. That is, she remains
Christ’s instrument as she makes an offering of love and praise, but in a
mode different than that of the priest’s offering. The degree to which the
Church shares in Christ’s offering of love becomes the measure by which
she opens herself to the fruits of the sacrifice.151
The fervor of the Church’s loving adoration depends on the sancti-
ty of her members. Here, the role of all the Church’s members comes to
the fore. The holiness of all believers, especially as they join their daily
prayers, good works, and penances to the prayer of the Mass, intensify
the Church’s share in Jesus’ interior offering. And so, even the sick who
are homebound or in hospitals can participate in the Church’s offering
at Masses that they cannot attend. In this way, the spiritual efficacy of a
Mass is neither automatic, nor is it measured by the holiness of the priest
who celebrates the liturgy.152
Christ’s sacrificial act in the Mass has priority, yet the Church’s sacri-
fice of love and praise are crucial as well. Whatever blessings the Church
receives through the Mass flow from Jesus’ Passion: by his humanity,
Christ instrumentally pours out grace, grants a new share in the forgive-
ness he merited for us, and a deeper participation in Christ’s satisfaction.
These gifts are made available to the Church in the liturgy, which ap-

151. Journet, The Mass, 122. Hunsinger expresses the Protestant concern that the efficacy of
God’s grace should overcome the limits of our devotion (The Eucharist and Ecumenism, 116). In the
background stands a longstanding C ­ atholic-Protestant debate on the role of human cooperation in
grace. From the perspective of Augustine, Aquinas, and the Council of Trent, God’s grace present
in the rite precedes our cultic acts and elevates them beyond their present limit (beyond the limits
of nature, but also by intensifying the power of grace already present).
152. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 6c.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 137
plies the fruitfulness of Christ’s saving work today.153 But the Church’s
receptivity to these fruits depends on the fervor of her loving adoration.
Christ’s saving work takes root via our active, free, personal cooperation
with him. God freely wills to make salvation depend on our free coopera-
tion, even as all salvation primarily (and always) depends on the Crucified
Lord.
Here, a brief word on the link between the priest’s offering for the
whole Church and his communion with the bishop also seems apropos.
The priest offers the Mass on behalf of the Church in virtue of the bish-
op’s power of jurisdiction, which makes the priest’s offering a licit offering.
His bishop in turn dwells in communion with the episcopal college, and
so, the priest can act in persona ecclesiae as he makes the offering. He can
truly represent the Church, so that the whole Church is really involved in
the offering of each Eucharist, and not just the faithful who are physical-
ly assembled for the celebration. In making the Eucharistic sacrifice, the
priest does something that the whole Church intends him to do. Thus, in
his juridically regulated action, the whole Church is truly present. Finally,
for this reason, we can say that this ecclesial presence can be actualized by
those Catholics who prayerfully and consciously join themselves to the
sacrifice of the Mass wherever it is being offered.154
I have considered Christ’s sacrificial act whereby the offering of the
body and blood through the priest is always efficacious, as well as the
Church’s loving adoration of the Father with Christ. Let us note a key
difference between these two aspects of Eucharistic sacrifice. With the
first aspect, the priority lies with the Incarnate Word acting in the litur-
gy, as the principal cause that operates via the minister. The second as-
pect turns our gaze toward the hidden work of the Holy Spirit, whose
proper name is Love. The Spirit is the very heart of the mystical body, the
hidden source of her holiness, who animates the members of Christ and
enables their loving adoration of the Father: Christ’s action as head in-
volves his humanity, through whose instrumentality the Spirit is given to
us.155 Here, our gaze shifts from the instrumentality of the priest, which
depends on his sacerdotal character, to the whole Church as animated by

153. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 49, a. 3.

154. I owe this explanation to an anonymous reader, to whom I am most grateful.
155. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 8, a. 1, ad 1.

138 Th e E u c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

the Spirit. We therefore find a balance in the theme of sacrifice, between
Christ and the Spirit, between the priesthood as instituted by Christ and
the Church as a communion of love. This gives partial confirmation that
our account of the Eucharist is on the right path, as it integrates a bal-
anced Trinitarian theology and ecclesiology.

A Sacrifice Overflowing with Blessing

Having considered the dynamic presence of Christ in the liturgy as well
as the agency of the priest and Church in the sacrifice, I now turn to the
effects or specific fruits of the Eucharistic sacrifice. The normal way for
the faithful who are present at Mass to participate in the sacrifice is by
their prayers and communion. Indeed, communing in the sacrifice con-
stitutes the most powerful form of sharing therein. Yet the ritual imparts
benefits to others as well: to those who are present but do not commune,
as well as to those absent. Since the whole Church offers the sacrifice (so
that the priest says, “we offer,” offerimus in Latin), the whole Church ben-
efits by it. Here, I use the scholastic distinction between the fruits of sacri-
fice and the fruits of communion. I now consider the fruits of the sacrifice
available to the whole mystical body. The next section studies sacramental
communion as an intense participation in the sacrifice.
The Church’s offering is acceptable only if it is joined to Christ. We
have seen that this offering includes the Church’s gift of charity to the Fa-
ther. In fact, by the rite, Christ elevates our share in the fruits of his sac-
rifice, both visible and invisible. Our external and internal offering must
be conformed to his.156 Eugène Masure notes: “Because the body is our
victim, it is in us that he engenders in this moment the interior immo-
lation of adoration, of love and repentance, of which it [the body] is the
efficacious sign.”157 We receive these fruits simply by joining our hearts to
the Eucharistic sacrifice, even as partaking of the sacrificial meal of com-
munion intensifies our participation in those fruits. I propose that this
is the first and primary effect of the sacrifice. More than any other fruit,
charity elevates the power of the Church’s share in upward mediation, in
her acts of adoration and thanksgiving.

156. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 334.

157. Masure, Le sacrifice du chef, 333 (translation by the author). Masure may at times conflate
sacrament and sacrifice, yet his work remains valuable.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 139
 It is important to begin a consideration of the fruits of sacrifice with
charity. Some classical manuals of theology focus their study of these
fruits on sin and satisfaction. This approach leads to an imbalance that
gives the theology of sacrifice a primarily negative tone, with a focus on
removing obstacles to grace. Yet we need not subordinate the loving glori-
fication of the Father to the sacrificial fruits of reconciliation and satisfac-
tion.158 The priority of charity matches well Aquinas’s doctrine of Christ’s
Passion: “A sacrifice properly so called is something done to give God the
honor that is properly due to him, and in order to please him. . . . [quot-
ing Augustine] ‘Christ offered himself up for us in the Passion,’ and this
voluntary enduring of the Passion was most acceptable to God, as coming
from charity.”159
That being said, the sacrifice does, indeed, bring reconciliation. Those
who live in Christ abide in charity and can thus joins their hearts to his
in obedience to the Father.160 A person whose heart is turned away from
God cannot make a pleasing sacrifice. Only the interior offering can ani-
mate the exterior offering (hence the harsh polemic of the Old Testament
prophets against sinful Israel and its strictly exterior cult). The fruit of
joining oneself to Christ’s obedient heart is liberation from the power of
evil.161
We know, because of the Eucharistic prayers, that the liturgy consti-
tutes a sin offering. Also, the Mass is a sin offering, since it is one with
Christ’s offering at Calvary. Speaking of the Eucharistic sacrifice, Aquinas
states: “the effect that Christ’s Passion has in the world, this sacrament
operates in the human being.”162 This theological principle allows us to
say that the Mass constitutes the most powerful form of sacrifice for sins
available to us. Following theological tradition, within the category of
reconciliation, I shall distinguish three types of effects (which I will cate-
gorize as fruits two through four, after charity).
The second sacrificial fruit is the gift of conversion from grave sin or

158. The eastern Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann rightly centers the sacrificial act
on the Church’s love. See David W. Fagerberg, Theologica Prima: What Is Liturgical Theology?, 2nd
ed. (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2004), 208.
159. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 48, a. 3.
160. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 47, a. 2.
161. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 49, aa. 2 & 4.
162. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1, corpus.

140 Th e E u c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

unbelief. In the offertory of the Tridentine rite, as the priest presents the
chalice to God, he prays for the salvation of the whole world.163 We find
similar prayers throughout the new Roman rite, for example, in the third
Eucharistic prayer: “May this Sacrifice of our reconciliation, we pray, O
Lord, advance the peace and salvation of all the world.” Trent teaches
that the Eucharistic offering brings even the remission of great crimes.164
While Eucharistic communion presumes life in Christ, the fruit of the
sacrifice can reach those beyond the mystical body.
We can link this insight with the doctrine of the Church as the uni-
versal sacrament of salvation. Francis Sullivan has shown the deep harmo-
ny between the liturgical prayers for the salvation of the world and the
Church’s role as not just a sign but also an efficacious instrument of salva-
tion. She is the universal sacrament of salvation, bringing to birth all those
who come to grace. The extension of her instrumentality should be seen
by analogy with the sacred humanity of Christ.165 Thus, whoever is saved
is saved by her prayers, joined to those of the glorified High Priest. Why
attribute such importance to the Church? Because she is mother, giving
birth to all those in grace, thanks to the loving sacrifice of her spouse.166
Let us specify: the sacrifice of the Mass obtains conversion, but it does
not constitute a guilt offering for mortal sins: only those alive in God can
make a pleasing sacrifice. For otherwise, a person in grave sin could ask for
the Mass to be offered for himself and then commune at the same Mass.
This would contradict the Church’s constant penitential practice. Rather,
the Mass begs God to lead the sinner back to life, onto the path to recon-
ciliation, a way that passes through baptism or sacramental confession.167
Third, Eucharistic sacrifice brings forgiveness for venial sins: it lib-
erates us from attachment to evil, because we seek to please God. As
previously mentioned, many ancient Eucharistic prayers beg for the pu-
rification and reconciliation of those who participate at Mass. Similarly,

163. Journet, The Mass, 122.

164. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chapter 2, DH 1743.
165. Francis A. Sullivan, Salvation Outside the Church? Tracing the History of the Catholic Re-
sponse (New York: Paulist Press, 1992), 156–60.
166. For a fine treatment of the controversial axiom “No salvation outside the Church,” see
Andrew Meszaros, “Yves Congar and the Salvation of the N ­ on-Christian,” Louvain Studies 37
(2013): 195–223.
167. See Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik, 3:334.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 141
ancient penitential practice shows that such forgiveness was sought in
the liturgy for lesser sins. Centuries later, Trent taught that the Cross’s
“salutary power [is] applied for the forgiveness of the sins that we daily
commit.”168 At various moments in the liturgy, the priest and all those
present express their desire for forgiveness: in the Kyrie Eleison, the Agnus
Dei and before communion, when the faithful in the Roman rite pray:
“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say
the word, and my soul shall be healed.” Such forgiveness is also mediated
by the gift of charity. That is, the sacrifice obtains forgiveness indirectly,
by provoking acts of contrition and charity, in those present and in those
for whom the Mass is offered.169 In other words, the sacrifice of the Mass
is the means by which the Spirit moves the heart of the believer to bring
a more authentic sacrifice. Thus, the rite does not simply wash away one’s
guilt without any human participation, but rather does so through the
human response to grace. Through the liturgy, the Holy Spirit provokes
acts of love in us, which in turn lead to acts of sorrow for venial sins com-
mitted. In a later chapter, we will see a parallel with charity as a grace of
Eucharistic communion, where charity also brings the forgiveness of ve-
nial sins. The power of the ritual provokes this charity in the hearts of
those who praise and express gratitude to God, so that the rite perfects
their interior sacrifice as it cleanses their hearts.
The fourth fruit of the Eucharistic sacrifice (also related to reconcilia-
tion) is satisfaction for sins and the punishment due to sin. This doctrine
first surfaced in medieval theology, yet the medieval theologians devel-
oped a biblical notion of sin as a debt. As we have seen, Cyril of Jerusalem
and other ancient witnesses identified the Eucharist as a sacrifice for sins.
Yet they did not draw all the implications from this insight. Over time,
as the Church’s theologians recognized with greater clarity the nature of
Christ’s saving work, they also better perceived the fruits of the Eucharist.
To grasp how we make satisfaction by the Eucharist, we need to set it
in relation to baptism and the sacrament of reconciliation. In baptism, we
were freed from all punishment for sins. In sacramental confession, the
priest assigns us a penance to assist us in making satisfaction for sins. Vari-

168. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chapter 1, DH 1740. See also canon 3,
DH 1753.
169. Michel, “La messe,” 1302–3.

142 Th e E u c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

ous good works done in grace also become the means to make satisfaction
for sins (e.g., almsgiving). Yet satisfaction is brought to us in a unique way
through the Mass, for it is the same sacrifice as the Cross, but in a sacra-
mental mode.
Aquinas describes this fruit of the Eucharistic sacrifice as follows:
As a sacrifice, the Eucharist has a satisfactory power. But in satisfaction, the love
(affectus) of the offerer is weighed more than the quantity of the offering; hence,
in Luke (21:4), the Lord says of the widow who offered two copper coins that she
“has given more than all.” Therefore, although by its quantity this oblation [of the
Lord’s body and blood] suffices to satisfy for all punishment, nevertheless, it be-
comes satisfactory for those for whom it is offered, or even for those who offer it,
according to the measure of their devotion, and not for the whole punishment.170

Here, the term “devotion” has the technical sense that was mentioned
above. For now, Aquinas focuses only on satisfaction, as he abstracts from
other aspects of reconciliation. In the Eucharist, satisfaction can be re-
ceived for forgiven sins.171 In other words, the recipient of this gift should
be in a state of grace. Thomas signals that we can offer the sacrifice to ob-
tain satisfaction for our sins or those of another. Forgiveness and satisfac-
tion are distinct gifts. However, the same sacrifice can also bring reconcil-
iation for venial sins. Let us add that the Eucharist can obtain satisfaction
for mortal sins previously forgiven by the sacrament of penance (whereas
baptism brings both reconciliation and satisfaction for all past sins).
On the Cross, Jesus obtained satisfaction for all sins. Because the
Mass is the sacrifice of Jesus in sacramental form, Thomas says (in the
passage above) that “by its quantity this oblation suffices to satisfy for all
punishment.” As we saw, considered by itself, Christ’s offering on Calva-
ry has limitless value. But this gift comes to us sacramentally, and can be
received only if the recipient is properly disposed, meaning, if he or she
has faith and charity. Devotion presupposes both virtues. We share in the
gift of satisfaction according to the fervor of our devotion. The paying of
a debt to God is never an automatic work, without our cooperation. The

170. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 5. See also Council of Trent, Decree on
the Sacrifice of the Mass, chapter 1, DH 1740; canon 3, DH 1753.
171. Michel, “La messe,” 1303; ­Philippe-Marie Margellidon, “Satisfaction,” in Dictionnaire de
philosophie et de théologie thomistes, ed. Yves Floucat and P.-M. Margellidon (Paris: Parole et Si-
lence, 2011), 479.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 143
sacrifice has its effect according to the disposition of the believer, which
in turn limits the gift received. That limit is the person’s devotion, or the
degree to which the person submits his or her will to God.172 We bene-
fit from the effects of Calvary only by making an interior offering our-
selves.
Last, as a subset of the fourth fruit of sacrifice, the liturgy brings sat-
isfaction for sins to the faithful departed. Trent insists much on the satis-
factory function of Mass.173 The ritual has this effect immediately for the
dead, that is, without their active participation (and indirectly for us, via
our acts of charity). This is partly because works of satisfaction involve
meritorious acts, and the departed are beyond the realm of merit. This
gift of satisfaction for the punishment due to sins is distinct from the rec-
onciliation that the souls in purgatory receive for their unforgiven venial
sins.174 At Mass, we also pray for that forgiveness.
Overall, the Mass brings to us the fruits already obtained by the Cru-
cified One, namely, by his perfect charity, his merit in obeying unto death
and his physical suffering. The Mass always remains subordinate to and
dependent on the Cross.
We have focused on the fruits of Calvary coming to us through the
Eucharistic sacrifice, yet we also need to ponder the power of Christ’s Res-
urrection and Ascension active in the liturgical celebration. What kind
of spiritual fruit do these mysteries impart through the ritual memorial?
First, we have the presence of Christ’s glorified body on the altar. I will
consider the spiritual effects of communing in his risen body in a later
chapter. Second, as Aquinas notes, the blessing of the chalice, with its ref-
erences to the eternal covenant and the remission of sins, manifests the
Eucharist’s eschatological end while removing obstacles on the path to
it.175 We have seen that the Eucharistic sacrifice imparts the forgiveness
of sins. Here, the power of the Passion stands at the center, with a focus
on the negative aspect: the removal of guilt and the spiritual stain. Yet the

172. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae ­II-II, q. 82, a. 2, ad 1.

173. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass, chapter 2, DH 1743; Council of
Trent, Decree on Purgatory, DH 1820.
174. Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik, 3:335.
175. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 3; Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mys-
tery, 276–77.

144 Th e E uc h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

same divine act of purification has a positive aspect that also comes to us
by the power of Christ’s Resurrection, namely, a new share in divine life,
a deeper imitation of Christ’s communion with the Father (Rom 4:25).
Both mysteries effectively move us toward heaven.176 Third, Jesus’ heav-
enly praise and intercession are an u­ n-bloody sacrifice that constitute the
full fruition of the Cross, and reveal the finality of all earthly sacrifice,
namely, the whole Church’s heavenly worship filled with love and praise.
That is, each Eucharistic celebration brings us closer to a full sharing in
this celestial liturgy, precisely by already participating therein through the
earthly liturgy. The fruit of the Resurrection and Ascension are that the
glorified Christ and his saints pray with us today, as signified in the litur-
gical prayers. In the memorial of his Ascension, the ascended Christ joins
his prayers to ours. He prays with us because he is thus represented.177

Communion as Sharing in the Fruits of Sacrifice

Until now, I have laid out the fruits of Eucharistic sacrifice in abstrac-
tion from communion. That is, each of these fruits are available to all the
members of the mystical body (more specifically, to the Church militant),
whether present at or absent from Mass, whether living or deceased. Still,
John Paul II reminds us: “The saving efficacy of the sacrifice is fully real-
ized when the Lord’s body and blood are received in communion. The
Eucharistic sacrifice is intrinsically directed to the inward union of the
faithful with Christ through communion.”178 A future chapter will take
up the specific fruits of Eucharistic communion. Here, I briefly consider
the importance of communion as the Church’s consummation of her sac-
rifice.
The Passion fulfilled all Old Testament sacrifices, especially the Pass-
over.179 The Mass renews Christ’s offering in an ­un-bloody mode. Now, it
was unthinkable for the devout Jew not to eat the Passover lamb during

176. Langevin, From Passion to Paschal Mystery, 276–77.

177. One finds a strong eschatological note in the Office of Corpus Christi, especially the se-
quence Lauda Sion. For an outstanding study of this liturgical corpus, see ­Jan-Heiner Tück, A Gift
of Presence: The Theology and Poetry of the Eucharist in Thomas Aquinas, trans. Scott G. Hefelfinger
(Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2018).
178. John Paul II, Ecclesia de Eucharistia (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2003), no. 16.
179. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 73, a. 6.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 145
the celebration. The Church fulfills the promise of Passover when her
members eat the body and drink the blood of the true Passover Lamb.
I previously noted the importance of sharing in Christ’s offering of
love. Those present at Mass heighten their participation therein above all
in the consummation of the sacrifice at communion. By consuming the
offering, we are configured to it.180 We become like the Christ that we
consume, and so our hearts are reshaped in the likeness of his heart, he
who gave his love and his whole human existence to the Father on the
Cross. “We are thereby configured to the image of his cruciform love and
share in the divine communion he enjoys.”181 Eating the victim imparts
­Christo-forming grace, an imprint of a similitude of Jesus’ suffering hu-
man love at Calvary. And, by its very nature, charity heightens our com-
munion with the Trinity. The sacrificial meal images this new communion
with God. By our eating and drinking, the rite effects what it signifies, as
it joins us body and soul to Christ and to the whole Trinity.
Does communion complete the sacrifice? In Latin theology, we find a
strong tendency to identify the Eucharistic sacrifice with the act of bring-
ing Christ the victim onto the altar and offering him to God. For example,
Augustine tells his congregation that, after the consecration, “when the
Sacrifice is finished, we say the Lord’s Prayer.”182 Here, he appears to iden-
tify the sacrifice with the prayers and deeds that occur during the anapho-
ra, or some part therein: the sacrifice is completed before communion,
which follows the Lord’s Prayer. Augustine is not perfectly clear on this
matter, for elsewhere, he implies that communion is part of the sacrifice.183
Aquinas holds that the Eucharist is a sacrifice insofar as it is offered, and a
sacrament insofar as it is received.184 That offering is already enacted (and
thus apparently perfect) with the completion of the consecration of the
separate species, since the consecration efficaciously represents Christ’s
death and thus enables the priest to bring the victim to the Father.185 In re-
180. Levering, Sacrifice and Community, 89.
181. Levering, Sacrifice and Community, 92.
182. Augustine, “Sermon 227,” in Augustine, Sermons (184–229Z) on the Liturgical Seasons,
trans. Edmund Hill, Works of St. Augustine 3.6 (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 1993).
183. Augustine, City of God, bk. 17, chap. 5. See J. L. van der Lof, “L’eucharistie et présence
réelle selon saint Augustin,” Revue des études augustiniennes 10 (1964), 301–2.
184. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 5, corpus.
185. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 80, a. 12, ad 3; q. 82, a. 10, ad 1.

146 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

cent centuries, most theologians have identified the consecration (and its
accompanying act of offering) as the essence of the Eucharistic sacrifice,
and made the priest’s communion part of the “integrity of the sacrifice,”
thus distinguishing the heart of the sacrifice from communion.186 This
stance fits well with Pius XII’s 1947 encyclical, Mediator Dei (as we will
see below).187
I would propose an expansion of this definition. As an act of offering
Christ’s body and blood to the Father, the sacrifice is indeed perfected with
the completion of the consecration (insofar as it includes the offering).
However, the Mass is the New Passover, and thus follows the pattern of
the Passover sacrifice. In the Old Passover, the act of offering the lamb did
not suffice, for the ritual sacrifice was completed when the Israelites ate the
lamb. The priest partaking in the host and the cup signifies and perfects
the Church’s participation in the offering: her new reception of the sacrifi-
cial fruits depends on this act. This better allows us to understand why the
priest’s communion is an essential part of the Mass from which the Church
has never dispensed anyone.188 Let us note that, in its teaching on sacrifice,
Mediator Dei seeks to refute at least three errors: (1) that communion, and
not the consecration, is the high point of Mass, (2) that the communion of
the laity is essential for Mass, and (3) that the priest represents the people
in the act of consecration. Pius XII’s teaching can be synthesized with an
expanded definition of the essence of the Eucharistic sacrifice: it is an offer-
ing and a sacrificial eating. The New Passover is a sacrifice of communion.
During the Mass, the minister represents Christ, primarily during the
consecration. In other parts of the liturgy, the priest also represents the
Church. This illumines the practice whereby the priest always receives
the host and the cup offered at Mass. Thomas states that “the priest both
offers and consumes the blood on behalf of all.”189 Let us note the ref-
erence to both body and blood. The priest offers sacrifice for the whole
186. See, for example, Stepan Martin Filip, “Imago repraesentativa passionis Christi: L’essenza
del sacrificio della Messa nella sua parte formale secondo San Tommaso d’Aquino” (Dissertatio ad
lauream in Facultatae S. Theologiae apud Pontificiam Universitatem S. Thomae in Urbe, 2007),
188, 197–98; Hauke, “What Is the Holy Mass?” 123; Journet, The Mass, 254.
187. Ángel García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero: Trattato ­storico-dogmatico sul mistero
eucaristico, Sussidi di teologia (Rome: EDUSC, 2006), 368–70.
188. Michel, “La messe,” 1256–57.
189. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 80, a. 12, ad 3.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 147
Church and fully enacts the Church’s participation therein by sharing in
the whole sacrifice. Aquinas explains:
whoever offers sacrifice must become a participant in it. For the exterior sacrifice
that is offered is a sign of the interior sacrifice by which he [the one offering]
offers himself to God, as Augustine says (City of God, book 10). Hence by par-
ticipating in the sacrifice, he [the priest] shows that the interior sacrifice pertains
to him. . . . Therefore, it is necessary for the priest to receive this sacrament in its
integrity whenever he consecrates.190

We can read this text with the help of Aquinas’s doctrine that the priest
acts in persona ecclesiae. The priest communes in the body and blood on
behalf of the whole Church, and so he signifies the Church’s interior of-
fering at Mass, which culminates in a new union with God. The priest’s
communion expresses and brings to completion the Church’s interior
offering of charity, an offering already manifested previously in various
gestures and prayers (offerimus). That communion signifies and there-
fore effects the Church’s participation in the fruits of the sacrifice, by her
union with Christ as victim, including a union of hearts. The Church tru-
ly and spiritually communes in the victim because the priest represents
her communion with Christ. All others who may commune do so primar-
ily as members of the Church, while the priest communes on behalf of the
whole Church militant.191
All of this implies that the priest communes in the gifts offered at
Mass. That is, he does not simply consume a host taken from the taber-
nacle, since the latter come from a distinct sacramental offering, from an-
other Mass, and not from the present offering. The priest is called to com-
plete the Church’s present sacramental sacrifice, so that it may intensify
her present union with Christ. For this reason, he must share in the gifts
that he has consecrated and offered up at the present Mass.
As for the lay faithful, while they still participate in the Church’s
sacrifice when receiving hosts from the tabernacle, they can better signi-
fy their participation in the present offering by receiving from the hosts
consecrated in this same offering. Sacrosanctum Concilium teaches: “The
190. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 4.
191. The key here is not that something be done to the sacrificial victim (as in some early mod-
ern theories of Eucharistic sacrifice) but that the Church may receive the victim (corporeal con-
tact) so as to share in Christ’s spiritual gifts (as is proper to the sacramental order).

148 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

more perfect form of participation in the Mass whereby the faithful, after
the priest’s communion, receive the Lord’s body from the same sacrifice,
is warmly recommended.”192 Jeremy Driscoll notes that this is the natu-
ral finality of the presentation of the gifts brought by the lay faithful.193
Indeed, it augments the typological link with Old Testament sacrifices.
Also, communion under both species made available to the lay faithful
allows them to better symbolize not just their share in the Last Supper
(where all present drank of the cup) but also to signify more fully their
share in Christ’s death, of which the cup is the more potent sign. Several
post–Vatican II liturgical reforms allow us to accentuate the sacrificial na-
ture of the Mass, not to diminish it.194
Communion is all about sharing in the fruits of sacrifice. In light of the
previous sections, we can say that the Mass is fruitful because (1) Christ is
represented in his act of offering, (2) Christ the victim is corporeally pres-
ent, (3) the separately consecrated species are offered to the Father, and
(4) the celebrant communes in the oblation in persona ecclesiae.

Excursus: The Threefold Application of the

Fruits of the Sacrifice
Following a venerable modern scholastic tradition (as represented by Jour-
net), we can further distinguish the different ways in which particular
members of the Church receive the fruits of the sacrifice. That is, the Mass
applies the fruits of Calvary today in three ways. The fruits are applied
(1) to the whole Church, (2) to the person for whom a Mass intention is
dedicated, and (3) according to the priest’s and the lay faithful’s personal
intentions. These are called (1) the general fruit, (2) the special fruit, and
(3) the particular fruit, respectively.
First, the priest celebrates the Mass on behalf of the Church.195 In
the liturgy, the celebrant often prays in the ­first-person plural: “We of-
fer you, Father.” Here, the “we” refers to the whole Church on earth (or
192. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 55.
193. Driscoll, “Sacrosanctum Concilium,” 36.
194. It is worth recalling that the Council of Trent deliberately left the issue of communion
under both kinds open. See John W. O’Malley, What Happened at Vatican II? (Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 2008), 133.
195. Journet, The Mass, 129.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 149
God’s pilgrim people) that prays in and with the priest. At every Mass, the
Church militant offers sacrifice to the Father, through Christ the High
Priest, in the grace of the Holy Spirit (who is “the heart of the Church”).
We saw above that the Church attains a share in the fruits of the Mass
according to her degree of holiness. This is also called the effect ex ope-
re operantis, literally, “from the work of the one operating” (or the work
being done), which is the Church’s sacrificial deed.196 The conscious and
active participation of the priest and all the faithful who are present at a
particular Mass should increase the Church’s receptivity to the fruits of
the Mass.197 Because of the link between the liturgical celebration and the
holiness of the whole Church militant, the fruits obtained do not depend
on the holiness of the priest celebrating or of the lay faithful who are
physically present at a particular liturgy.
As Journet points out, each Mass is offered for the whole Church on
earth and benefits the souls in purgatory.198 For this reason, every Mass
brings a blessing to all who are in grace, and to all of humanity. This is also
part of the general fruits of the Mass. These universal blessings are assured
for two reasons: (1) the unity of the Church’s members with Christ the
head, and (2) the fact that Christ the head principally offers each sacrifice
of the Mass.199 Since the Sacrifice of the Mass is not a separate sacrifice
from that of the Cross, it also infallibly merits certain fruits.
Consequently, priests of the Latin rite who do not experience evident
growth in personal devotion to Christ and the Eucharist through the
celebration of daily Mass should still celebrate it each day, because every
Mass brings a blessing to the whole Church, and this via the Church’s de-
votion. The priest is ordained not for his own sake, but for the benefit of
the Church: the sacrament of holy orders essentially constitutes the priest
as a servant of the Church. Therefore, when a Latin rite priest decides not
to celebrate Mass at all on certain days but instead attends the Mass cele-
brated by another, he falls short in his service to the Church, for he does
not bring a distinct sacramental offering to God.

196. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 5, corpus; Michel, “La messe,” 1299–
1300.
197. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 33.
198. Journet, The Mass, 127.
199. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 548.

150 Th e Eu c h ar i s tic Sa c r if ice

 Second, the priest has a Mass intention that is prescribed by the par-
ish, shrine, or religious community, which generally comes with a stipend.
This intention is linked with what is called the special fruit of the Mass.
For centuries, the Church has accepted one stipend per Mass, partly to
prevent an obvious source of abuse of the sacraments. The priest’s inten-
tion must be at least implicit, that is, he intends to say Mass for the inten-
tion listed in the sacristy book, even if he forgets the particular intention
noted there. If there is no official intention, the priest should form one.
This should be done before the consecration.200 The fruitfulness of the
Mass does not depend on the priest’s personal holiness. Rather, the fruit
comes to the beneficiary ex opere operato, that is, by the instrumental effi-
cacy of the rite, for its principal celebrant is Christ himself.
Third, the priest and each of the faithful have a personal intention at
Mass, and it is linked with what is called the particular fruit of the Mass.
The efficacy of this intention depends on the personal holiness and active
devotion of the ones who make the intention. A priest in mortal sin ob-
tains the general fruits of the Mass for the Church militant and the blessing
sought in the official Mass intention, but he does not obtain God’s favor
for his own personal intention. Instead, he finds condemnation. Converse-
ly, the more intense the charity of the priest or the layperson participating
at Mass, the more efficacious becomes the offering that they bring for a
personal intention. One can bring multiple personal intentions to Mass,
since its fruits cannot be limited.201 The priest and laity should formulate
their intention before Mass. The general intercessions that immediately
precede the Liturgy of the Eucharist remind us to make this offering.

Evaluating Three Objections to

Eucharistic Sacrifice
The theology of Eucharistic sacrifice articulated above must face a series of
objections. Earlier, I answered exegetical and historical challenges. There
remain at least three major types of objections to this way of envisioning

200. Michel, “La messe,” 1305–6.

201. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 550.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 151
sacrifice: (1) theological and pastoral concerns that the meal aspect of the
Eucharist will be obscured; (2) ­Louis-Marie Chauvet’s spiritualizing of
sacrifice, mentioned at the beginning of this chapter; and (3) Martin Lu-
ther’s classic objections that have marked much of the Protestant move-
ment.

Sacrifice or Meal?
Should we see the Eucharistic liturgy as primarily a sacrifice or a meal? In
recent decades, theologians have placed great emphasis on the Eucharist
as a banquet. I maintain that we should not lose sight of the centrality of
sacrifice. In the words of Matthew Levering, “In this oblation, the sacri-
fice and meal mutually interpenetrate and define one another.”202 In oth-
er words, we would misunderstand the Eucharist’s meal aspect without a
proper grasp of its sacrificial nature.203
As we saw above see, numerous theological sources demonstrate the
importance of sacrifice. Taken together, they show that the Eucharistic
meal is best understood as depending on sacrifice, and not vice versa.
First, the Last Supper narratives constitute the central biblical locus of a
Eucharistic theology, for here Christ enacts the Eucharist as he institutes
it. In chapter 3, we saw that all the ancient anaphora maintain a firm ref-
erence to the Last Supper. These rites and the Church Fathers witness to
that event as the Eucharist’s historical and spiritual origin. In other words,
the Eucharistic liturgy did not spontaneously emerge from the commu-
nal meal practices of the early Christians. Second, we saw in chapter 2
that the Last Supper was a Passover meal. It integrated the Jewish table
blessings, which strongly marked the early Eucharistic prayers. In chapter
3, I noted that Christ instituted a new sacramental sacrifice at the Last
Supper. Within that institution, he set down a firm link between the gift
of his flesh and blood and his saving death on the Cross. He becomes
the new lamb, offered on the Cross. His words over the bread and cup

202. Levering, Sacrifice and Community, 2.

203. The theme of sacrifice is essentially missing from the biblical analysis of the Eucharist in
the recent document of an ecumenical study group in Germany, with an almost exclusive focus
on the early Eucharistic celebration as a sacred meal. The document seems to employ a Lutheran
hermeneutic that flattens the rich complexity of the biblical and early Church witnesses. See Volker
Leppin and Dorothea Sattler, eds., Together at the Lord’s Table: A Votum of the Ecumenical Working
Group of Lutheran and Catholic Theologians (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2020), 89–104.

152 Th e E u c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

contain strong sacrificial images. Also, the eating of his body and blood
given up for us fulfills the Passover practice of eating the slain lamb. As
Jean Danielou has pointed out, the image of the paschal lamb unites sac-
rifice and meal.204 In the context of the Last Supper, eating and drink-
ing are essentially sacrificial acts. Indeed, sacrifice seems to overshadow
the act of eating in the biblical Last Supper accounts. For we find only
brief indications of or allusions to the apostles’ eating and drinking, to
the point of causing some exegetes to doubt whether the Last Supper was
a Passover meal at all. Instead, Jesus’ words and gestures stand in the fore-
ground. Third, our survey of the early Fathers and ancient liturgy in the
present chapter manifested a tendency to identify a wide array of prayers
and gestures as an offering. In other words, the Eucharistic liturgy is not
a ritual that contains some sacrificial elements. Rather, it is a sacrifice, one
that includes various forms of sacrifice. Fourth, the food and drink that
we consume are the flesh and blood of Christ as victim. Our manner of
eating depends on the presence of the victim, specifically, the substantial
presence of his body and blood. Our eating is a sharing in a sacrifice, and
not just the consumption of his glorified humanity. Therefore, the Eucha-
rist as a sacred meal depends on and flows from the sacrificial nature of
the Mass. We participate in a banquet because we share in a sacrifice.
We can maintain a vision of the Eucharistic liturgy as a sacrifice con-
summated in communion while we also avoid numerous theological
pitfalls. A doctrine that places much emphasis on the consecration need
not minimize the role of the Church in the liturgy, for she offers Christ
the victim with and through the priest. The Mass cannot bear fruit in the
lives of the faithful without their ­self-offering, which in turn highlights
the role of praise, worship, and thanksgiving. These are forms of exteri-
or sacrifice that express and heighten the interior sacrifice of the partic-
ipants. The themes of satisfaction and reconciliation are important, yet
they need not overshadow other blessings imparted in the liturgy. Indeed,
­Christo-forming love is the greatest fruit of the Eucharistic sacrifice.
There is simply no need to oppose the themes of sacrifice and the com-
munion of love. Finally, a proper understanding of sacrifice gives a strong
argument for the importance of the laity’s communion, including their
204. Jean Danielou, The Bible and the Liturgy (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame
Press, 1956), 172.

Th e E uc h a r i st i c Sacr i fi ce 153
sharing in the cup, in continuation of Old Covenant sacrificial practice.
Abundant gifts may be received by the consumption of the gifts. Sacrifice
makes possible the most extraordinary banquet of all.
The heart of the solution seems to be twofold. First, we should recog-
nize the Eucharist as the fulfillment of biblical sacrifices of communion
(including Passover), where the oblation of the victim is ordered to its
consumption by those who offer it. Eating completes the sacrifice. Sec-
ond, we ought to refuse any opposition between interior and exterior sac-
rifice, both of which find their fulfillment in communion.

A Response to ­Louis-Marie Chauvet on

Eucharistic Sacrifice
­ ouis-Marie Chauvet holds that the New Testament follows a contem-
L
poraneous Jewish theological development, in which emphasis shifted
from the offering of a victim to the sacrifice of praise.205 In Chauvet’s view,
the theme of propitiation remains acceptable, if it is placed within the
framework of a communion sacrifice.206 His biblical exegesis and reading
of ­second-century Christian liturgy lead him to place two themes at the
center of Eucharistic sacrifice: the whole people’s offering of praise and
thanksgiving, and their daily sacrifice of love in service of neighbor, a sacri-
fice that the liturgy animates (e.g., Heb 13:15–16).207
The theology of Eucharistic sacrifice developed above can honor Chau­­
vet’s main concerns. The cruciform love received by the sacrifice height-
ens our concern for our neighbor in need. The gift of reconciliation heals
wounded relationships with God and our fellow human beings. Also, the
offering of praise is crucial in order for the participants to dispose them-
selves for a new share in the various gifts that flow from the sacrifice.
However, Chauvet places his theological accents in problematic ways.
His account of sacrifice essentially ignores the Last Supper, yet it is here
that Jesus himself enacted a sacrificial ritual. Chauvet skips a discussion of
the offering of Christ’s body and blood, that perfect sacrifice to which our
gifts of praise and thanksgiving must be joined so as to become one with

205. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 240–44.

206. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 310–11.
207. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 252–59, 311–12.

154 Th e Eu c h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

his ­self-giving on the Cross. Chauvet exaggerates the spiritualization of
­second-century sacrificial doctrine, as he overlooks Irenaeus’s ­anti-Gnostic
emphasis on bringing the first fruits of material creation. Chauvet insists
that the lex orandi of the new Eucharistic prayers in the Roman rite should
guide sacramental theology, yet we saw how many of these prayers express
the Church’s act of offering the victim to the Father. Finally, Chauvet con-
sistently approaches Eucharistic sacrifice as something that we do, but he
says little on how Christ changes the gifts so that we can make an offering
through him. The difficulties in Chauvet’s account stem not so much from
his affirmations as from his omissions.208 Indeed, the immediate depen-
dence of the Church’s sacrificial act on Christ’s priestly action seems cru-
cial to avoid the heart of the Protestant objection to a Catholic doctrine
of sacrifice.

Evaluating Martin Luther’s Critique of the

Sacrifice of the Mass
The revised notions of sacrifice presented by Chauvet and other theolo-
gians partly respond to the concerns of Martin Luther and his disciples.
Here, we can take a closer look at Luther’s doctrinal motives for denying
Eucharistic sacrifice and give a brief response to him. As we ponder Lu-
ther’s polemic against the Mass as a sacrifice, we might remember his his-
torical context: a multiplication of private Masses said for the dead, and
infrequent communion by the laity. ­Sixteenth-century Catholic practice
limited the experience of the Mass as communion with Christ and as a sa-
cred meal, while placing great emphasis on sacrifice for sins.209 We should
read the Wittenberg theologian with a hermeneutic of charity.
Luther emphasized that the Eucharistic liturgy has the power to elicit
and strengthen faith. He considered the liturgical signs and communion
with Christ present in the transformed gifts as a true means to grace. He
held for a doctrine of the real presence (to be studied in the next chapter),

208. Joris Geldhof rightly points out that Chauvet’s hermeneutical approach to the sacra-
ments and the Eucharist brings good insights, yet, due to its link with a (Heideggerian) philosophy
of finitude, Chauvet cannot adequately account for our liturgical participation in the infinite. See
Geldhof, “Thought and the Eucharist: Philosophical Models and Their Theological Appropria-
tion,” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 86 (2010): 97–98.
209. ­Karl-Heinz zur Mühlen, “Luther II: Theologie,” in Theologische Realenzyklopädie, vol. 21,
ed. Gerhard L. Müller (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1991), 554.

Th e E uc h a r i s t i c Sacr i fi ce 155
so that Christ truly gives himself to us in the Eucharistic gifts.210 Luther
focused his exposition of the liturgy on the Augustinian notion of the
sacrifice of praise. The assembly’s prayers and hymns are an acceptable of-
fering to God.211 The faithful respond to Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross
and his offer of forgiveness. Luther sharply distinguished between the
prayers offered and the power of the Word active in the liturgy.212
As noted at the beginning of this chapter, Luther’s stance is closely
tied to his insistence that we are justified by faith alone. In other words,
his rejection of any sacrificial work goes to the heart of his entire theo-
logical project: we are dealing with much more than a misunderstanding
between Luther and his contemporaries. His refusal of merit in Chris-
tian good works is also closely linked with his view of the priesthood. Lu-
ther inherited some basic philosophical presuppositions from his Cath-
olic teachers and their medieval predecessors. That is, Luther’s theology
is rooted in a univocal approach to causality: He presumes that if God
acts, we receive, and thus we do not act. But if we act, then God does
not act.213 In this approach, our good works would take away from God’s
glory and obscure the truth that salvation is a gift. Luther rejects any
application of the model of principal and instrumental causality to the
sacramental realm. Thus, he says that Christ is the only priest at Mass.214
Charles Morerod has shown that Luther’s sacramental theology partly de-
pends on the philosophical assumptions (1) that an action has one cause
and (2) that instruments are not real causes. We find similar presupposi-
tions in the writings of John Calvin.215
For Luther, the key to understanding the Eucharistic liturgy is the
juridical category of a testament. A testament involves a promise and an
inheritance that a dying person leaves us. Jesus has left us a promise that
we will receive forgiveness of sins through the Cross. This forgiveness is
our inheritance, and we obtain it by faith. The Last Supper is thus essen-
210. Joachim Staedtke, “Abendmahl III/3: Reformationszeit,” in Theologische Realenzyklopä-
die, vol. 1, ed. Gerhard Kraus and Gerhard L. Müller (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977), 111.
211. Gillian R Evans, “Opfer V: Mittelalter bis Neuzeit,” in Theologische Realenzyklopädie, vol.
25, ed. Gerhard L. Müller (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1995), 281.
212. Martin Luther, The Babylonian Captivity, 49–53.
213. Charles Morerod, Ecumenism and Philosophy: Philosophical Questions for a Renewal of Di-
alogue (Ann Arbor, Mich.: Sapientia Press, 2006), 83–93.
214. Evans, “Opfer V,” 281.
215. Morerod, Ecumenism and Philosophy, 93–103.

156 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

tially a Word event, a promise signified by the prayers of the Last Supper
celebration and through material things, namely, bread and wine. Luther
interprets memorial through the confession that the Church makes of
Christ’s promise.216 Since the Eucharistic liturgy is effective by the faith
that it elicits in its participants, it does not benefit those who are absent.
It is not offered for others, for faith is a personal act made in response to
Christ’s last testament, the promise that is remembered by those who par-
ticipate in the liturgy.217
Luther thus separates the Last Supper from the paschal meal. He does
not reduce memorial to a mere act of calling to mind past saving events,
yet he refocuses the entire Eucharistic doctrine on the power of God’s
word, on God’s promise pronounced by the minister in the words of insti-
tution, a word active today as it addresses the sinner directly.218 The slain
lamb has a place only insofar as the signs point to the true Lamb. Luther
considers the Last Supper as a testament in abstraction from Christ’s cor-
poreal presence. Finally, Luther’s vision of the Last Supper places it in op-
position to the Old Testament. He wants to go beyond the law, with its
ineffective works, and have only the Gospel, with its promise of salvation
by faith.219 This is crucial: Luther separates the Last Supper from its Jew-
ish roots.
Two final comments on Luther are in order. First, Luther realized that
he was opposing an ancient theological tradition of Eucharistic sacrifice.
Indeed, earlier in this chapter, we saw how the doctrine that the Church
offers Christ as victim to the Father is firmly planted in the anaphora
of various liturgical families. Luther’s stance implies that many Church
Fathers and our most ancient Eucharistic prayers transmit a grave doc-
trinal error. Second, his refusal of instrumental causality goes beyond a
rejection of the ministerial priesthood, for it also touches upon the entire
Catholic vision of the Church’s and the sacraments’ role in salvation.220
216. Oswald Bayer, Promissio: Geschichte der reformatorischen Wende in Luthers Theologie, For-
schungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 24 (Göttingen, Germany: Vandenhoeck & Rup-
recht, 1971), 251.
217. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 304–7.
218. Bayer, Promissio, 252
219. Urfels, La Pâque du Messie, 312–17.
220. The German ecumenical working group overlooks the contradictions between Luther
and widespread early Christian liturgical belief in Eucharistic sacrifice. See Leppin and Sattler, To-
gether at the Lord’s Table, 105–14. It implicitly accepts a rupture in the lex orandi.

Th e E uc h ar i st i c Sacr i fi ce 157
 The previous remarks should not obscure the fact that some contem-
porary Protestant leaders and theologians have reconsidered the question
of Eucharistic sacrifice. For example, George Hunsinger proposes that the
following formulations would be acceptable from a Reformed (Calvinist)
Protestant perspective. First, Christ expiated for our sins once and for all,
yet the fruits of this saving work are made available to us daily, apparently
also in the Eucharist.221 Second, Hunsinger is not at ease with the lan-
guage of Christians offering sacrifice, but he can accept a representation of
a sacrifice. He seeks to avoid the idea of a repetition of Christ’s sacrificial
act. The meaning of the term “representation” becomes crucial. Hunsing-
er’s description of the Eucharist as a r­ e-actualization of the Cross holds
promise, while also needing more precision.222 Third, Hunsinger recog-
nizes the link between the Last Supper and the Passover: we commune in
the Paschal Lamb.223 His proposal deserves further reflection, especially
on the link between sacrifice, Christ’s corporeal presence, and the identi-
ty of the Eucharistic celebrant.
Finally, while contemporary theological discussions across the con-
fessional divide hold much promise, it is important to recognize that
Luther’s rejection of Eucharistic sacrifice as understood by the Catholic
tradition gained immediate acceptance among all the leading Protestant
Reformers (such as John Calvin), and continues to be part of the basic
Protestant confessional stance.224

221. Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism, 136–39.

222. Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism, 138–39, 144–45, 171–72.
223. Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism, 142–45.
224. Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism, 109–10. This rejection of Eucharistic sacrifice
also includes communities with a relatively high sacramental theology, such as the Anglicans. See
the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity, “The Official Roman Catholic Response
to the Final Report of ARCIC (1991),” in Anglicans and Roman Catholic Catholics: The Search for
Unity, ed. Christopher Hill and E. J. Yarnold (London: SPCK/CTS, 1994), 162.

158 Th e E uc h a r i s tic Sa c r if ice

Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
Ch a p t e r 6

}
THE SUBSTANTIAL
PRESENCE OF CHRIST
IN THE EUCHARIST

In our study of John 6 and the Last Supper, we found good reasons to hold
that these texts teach a strong Eucharistic realism. The raw language of
Jesus about eating his flesh and blood shocked his interlocutors. Christ’s
words at the Last Supper, understood within its Passover setting, point in
the same direction. This exegesis finds confirmation in patristic doctrine
and ancient Eucharistic practice. From Ignatius of Antioch forward, the
Fathers consistently affirmed that the Eucharistic food and drink simply
are Christ’s body and blood. This teaching was perceived to be part of the
apostolic heritage.1
The last few decades have seen a w ­ ide-ranging debate on the nature
of Christ’s presence in the Eucharistic gifts. Before Vatican II, we already
1. Bruce Marshall, “The Eucharistic Presence of Christ,” in What Does It Mean to “Do This”?
Supper, Mass, Eucharist, ed. Michael Root and James J. Buckley, The Pro Ecclesia Series (Eugene,
Ore.: Cascade Books, 2014), 55–56.

159
find the beginning of a quest for a theology less bound to Aristotelian
and scholastic categories, a quest that has the aim of rendering the doc-
trine intelligible to contemporary man. Starting in the ­mid-twentieth
century, some theologians proposed that the greatest transformation in
the gifts involves a change of purpose (­trans-finalization) or meaning
(­trans-signification). Edward Schillebeeckx made a change of meaning
central to his vision of this sacrament, though without denying a deeper,
metaphysical modification of the gifts.2 ­Louis-Marie Chauvet appropriat-
ed the tools of the philosophy of language and phenomenology to offer
a Eucharistic theology radically centered on symbolic efficacy, in an ef-
fort to go beyond any notion of substantial presence.3 Leading liturgical
scholars have sought to develop a doctrine of Christ’s “dynamic presence,”
in contrast to the “static presence” of a mere substance. Cesare Giraudo
posits the presence of Christ’s body and blood in the event of his Passion,
with appeal to the category of an efficacious memorial.4 Among Protes-
tant theologians, the wide divergence, which began among Martin Lu-
ther, Huldrych Zwingli, and John Calvin, on the nature of Christ’s pres-
ence in the Eucharist continues. In the latter group, one finds everything
from a corporal, q­ uasi-substantial presence (Luther) to a mere symbol of
Christ (Zwingli), with various options in between (including Calvin).
Vatican II said little on Christ’s presence in the Eucharistic gifts, yet
affirmed the doctrine of Trent.5 In his 1965 encyclical Mysterium Fidei,
Paul VI called for firm adherence to the doctrine of transubstantiation.
But, in general, Catholic preaching and catechesis since Vatican II rarely
offer much instruction on the nature of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist,
or on how the gifts on the altar change.
The heart of this chapter lays out a Thomistic account of Christ’s pres-
ence in the gifts. Since the biblical treatment of this theme has already
been undertaken, I begin with a survey of the Fathers’ teaching, followed
by a brief journey to f­ourteenth-century Byzantium. I then turn to the

2. Edward Schillebeeckx, The Eucharist (London: Sheed & Ward, 1968), 130–50.
3. ­Louis-Marie Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament: A Sacramental Reinterpretation of Christian
Existence, trans. Patrick Madigan and Madeleine Beaumont (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press,
1995), 382–408.
4. Cesare Giraudo, In unum corpus: Traité mystagogique sur l’eucharistie, trans. Éric Iborra and
­Pierre-Marie Hombert (Paris: Cerf, 2014), 532–34 (discussed above).
5. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 7.

160 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
controversy surrounding Berengar of Tours, which triggered significant
medieval developments in Eucharistic doctrine. The systematic section
includes a brief philosophical exposition of the basic notions of substance
and accident, which advanced readers may choose to skip. I then focus on
Aquinas’s influential theology of transubstantiation (or the change of the
gifts) and Christ’s abiding presence in the gifts (the result of transubstan-
tiation). I will analyze his doctrine and argue for its coherence in the face
of alternatives. I also seek to make this complex and subtle teaching more
accessible by setting forth two analogies: the soul’s presence within the
body and the Incarnation. The chapter continues with a survey of Luther
and other leaders of the Protestant Reformation, along with the teaching
of the Council of Trent that partly responds to them. Luther and Trent
are best understood in light of medieval scholastic theology, and so I an-
alyze their teachings after the study of Aquinas. I conclude with a short
analysis of key objections to a classical, scholastic account of Eucharistic
presence, especially those of Schillebeeckx and Chauvet, by pondering
their work in light of Pope Paul VI’s encyclical Mysterium Fidei.

The Theology of Christ’s Corporeal

Presence in History
Patristic Theologies of Eucharistic Presence
Eucharistic realism is strikingly ancient. Writing to the Smyrnaeans (in
Asia Minor) in the early second century, Ignatius of Antioch warns against
those who abstain from the Eucharist: “they do not confess that the Eu-
charist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins,
and which the Father in his ­loving-kindness raised from the dead.”6 Igna-
tius polemicizes against the Docetists, who deny the reality of Christ’s hu-
manity. On the contrary, the Eucharist is the body of the glorified Christ.
Ignatius posits a continuity of identity between Christ’s historical, risen,
and Eucharistic body.7

6. Ignatius of Antioch, “Letter to the Smyrnaeans,” no. 7, in The Epistles of St. Clement of Rome
and St. Ignatius of Antioch, ed. James A. Kleist, Ancient Christian Writers 1 (New York: Paulist
Press, 1978), 92.
7. Moll, Die Lehre von der Eucharistie als Opfer (Cologne: Peter Hanstein, 1975), 96.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 161

 Writing around the year 150, Justin Martyr’s First Apology, chapter 66,
states:
For we do not receive these things as common bread and common drink; but
in like manner as Jesus Christ our Savior, having been made incarnate by the
God’s logos, took both flesh and blood for our salvation, so also have we been
taught that the food eucharistized through the word of prayer that is from Him,
from which our blood and flesh are nourished by transformation, is the flesh and
blood of that Jesus who became incarnate.8

Both the Incarnation and the conversion of the Eucharistic gifts come
about by the initiative of the Logos. The Word of God (the Son) acts so
as to become incarnate, and he acts to make of bread and wine his flesh
and blood. The Logos descends from heaven to become man in the womb
of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The Logos made flesh descends again in the
Eucharistic gifts. The analogy between the Logos’s incarnate presence in
history and in the sacrament constitutes a veritable key for Greek patristic
Eucharistic theology.9 The analogy centers on the way in which the Son
is present to us. Justin affirms continuity from the Incarnation to the Eu-
charist: in each, we find the same flesh and blood, that of the Savior.
Irenaeus of Lyon insists that the Eucharist is Christ’s own blood and
his own flesh: “[ Jesus] has acknowledged the cup (which is a part of the
creation) as His own blood, from which He bedews our blood; and the
bread (also a part of the creation) He has established as His own body,
from which He gives increase to our bodies.”10 Irenaeus’s realism also
emerges when he argues that our flesh is saved because it is fed with
Christ’s flesh and blood.11 The means of salvation corresponds to the
reality being saved: Christ’s real and immortal body taken into ourselves
causes our bodily resurrection.12 Irenaeus adds that the Eucharist is con-

8. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chapter 66, in First and Second Apologies, ed. and trans. Leslie
William Barnard, Ancient Christian Writers 56 (New York: Paulist Press, 1997).
9. Johannes Betz, Eucharistie in der Schrift und Patristik, Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte
4.4a (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1979), 34; also Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen
Väter, vol. 1.1: Die Aktualpräsenz der Person und des Heilswerkes Jesu im Abendmahl nach der vor-
ephesinischen griechischen Patristik (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1955),271.
10. Irenaeus of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 5, chap. 2, no. 2, in Irenaeus of Lyon, Contre
les hérésies, livre V, ed. Adelin Rousseau, Sources chrétiennes 125 (Paris: Cerf, 1969).
11. Irenaeus of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 5, chap. 18, no. 5.
12. Betz, Eucharistie in der Schrift und Patristik, 36.

162 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

stituted of a heavenly and an earthly element. This phrase likely refers to
the source or origin of the gift, namely, the Logos and the bread. It may
also refer to the act of invoking the Logos onto the earthly gifts, so that
when the prayer of consecration calls upon Jesus the Logos to descend, he
comes into the Eucharistic elements.13
John Chrysostom stands as the leading representative of the “Antio-
chene school,” which emphasized the presence of Christ’s humanity in the
Eucharist. By representing (in ritual form) the Passion and Resurrection
of Christ, the mystery (the saving historical deed) becomes present in the
“type.”14 Chrysostom refuses to separate the sign from the reality signi-
fied. His conviction in the corporeal presence of Christ emerges in sev-
eral ways. First, the oblation offered today is the same that was offered at
the Last Supper.15 Second, Christ’s words transform (metaruthmizei) the
gifts. Indeed, the power of his words at the Last Supper spans across time
to all Eucharistic celebrations.16 Third, the body that we receive is the
same that was crucified for us.17 Fourth, Chrysostom employs provoca-
tive language to point to the mystical encounter available in sacramental
eating: we eat Christ, we place our teeth on his flesh, so as to be joined
with him and to fulfill our desires.18
In general, the Greek Fathers emphasize the transforming power of
God’s Word that is evoked in the prayer of the epiclesis. They hold that
the prayer of consecration reaches all the way to the being (ousia) of the
Eucharist, and not just its purpose or meaning. Yet the same Fathers
spend little time reflecting on how this change occurs.19 Some Greek Fa-

13. Betz, Eucharistie in der Schrift und Patristik, 37; also Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der
griechischen Väter, 1.1:301–2; Antonio Orbe, Introduction à la théologie des IIe et IIIe siècles, trans.
Joseph M. López de Castro, Agnès Bastit, and J­ean-Michel Roessli, Patrimoines: Christianisme
(Paris: Cerf, 2012), vol. 1, 736; Moll, Die Lehre von der Eucharistie als Opfer, 174.
14. Ángel García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero: Trattato s­ torico-dogmatico sul mistero eu-
caristico, Sussidi di teologia (Rome: EDUSC, 2006), 156n122.
15. John Chrysostom, “Homily on 2 Timothy,” 2.4 (PG 62:612), cited in García Ibáñez, L’eu-
caristia, dono e mistero, 157.
16. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 157n123.
17. John Chrysostom, “Homily on 1 Corinthians,” 24.4 (PG 61:203–4), cited in García
Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 159.
18. See Roch A. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb: Eucharistic Theology from a Biblical,
Historical and Systematic Perspective (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2007), 107.
19. J­ ean-Marie Roger Tillard, “Théologie, voix catholique: La communion à la Pâque du Sei-
gneur,” in Eucharistia: Encyclopédie de l’eucharistie, ed. Maurice Brouard (Paris: Cerf, 2002), 406.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 163
thers prefer to speak of the Eucharist as a “pneumatic” or “spiritual body.”
The key background text is 1 Corinthians 15: Christ’s risen body overflows
with the Holy Spirit and his gifts.20 In this context, the term “pneumatic”
or “spiritual” is not opposed to the term “corporeal.”
Ambrose of Milan marked the Eucharistic doctrine of the west as few
other Fathers of the Church did. He also transmitted and developed the
teaching of the Greek Fathers. Some key characteristics of his catecheses
deserve brief mention. In Ambrose, we frequently find the language of
the “conversion” of the gifts, or the use of verbs such as “to change” and
“to transfigure.”21 This involves a supernatural effect on the very nature
of the thing seen and received.22 Ambrose unfolds his teaching by com-
paring the Eucharistic change to nature miracles in the Old Testament.23
The sacramental change is made possible by the divine word that can cre-
ate out of nothing, a power that can thus also change creatures in extraor-
dinary ways. Ambrose’s favorite analogy for Eucharistic transformation is
the Incarnation:
Let us use his own examples, and by the mysteries of the Incarnation let us es-
tablish the truth of the mysteries. Did the process of nature precede when the
Lord Jesus was born of Mary? If we seek the usual course, a woman after mingling
with a man usually conceives. It is clear that the Virgin conceived contrary to the
course of nature. And this body which we make is from the Virgin. Why do you
seek here the course of nature in the body of Christ, when the Lord Jesus himself
was born of the Virgin contrary to nature? Surely it is the true flesh of Christ,
which was crucified, which was buried; therefore it is truly the sacrament of that
flesh.24

Neither the change in Mary’s womb nor that on the altar can be explained
by nature. Ambrose seems to detect a consistent pattern in God’s saving
works, from Old Testament miracles to the Annunciation and the liturgy.
20. ­Jean-Marie Roger Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, Unam sanctam 4 (Paris: Cerf,
1964), 28–29. For an English translation, see The Eucharist: Pasch of God’s People (Staten Island,
N.Y.: Alba House, 1967).
21. Raymond Johanny, L’eucharistie centre de l’histoire du salut chez saint Ambroise de Milan,
Théologie historique 9 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1969), 89–112.
22. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 166–67.
23. Ambrose of Milan, The Mysteries, 9.50–54, in Theological and Dogmatic Works, trans. Roy
Deferrari, The Fathers of the Church 44 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 1963).
24. Ambrose, The Mysteries, 9.53, in Theological and Dogmatic Works, 25–26.

164 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r i st
Faith in the Virginal conception becomes a pedagogical step to grasp the
mystery of the Eucharist. Christ’s true flesh was in Mary’s womb, was on
the Cross, rose from the dead and is now on the altar. We now have the
same flesh, for it is “from the Virgin.” Ambrose also posits an identity
between Christ’s historical, glorified, and Eucharistic body. At the same
time, Christ’s mode of Eucharistic presence is distinct, such that he is not
consumed in a material mode, that is, not in the way of normal food.25
Augustine continues Ambrose’s Eucharistic realism while accentuat-
ing his doctrine in a different way. The Bishop of Hippo gives no expla-
nation of Eucharistic conversion, yet he acknowledges the reality.26 In
Sermon 229, he instructs the neophytes: “What you can see here, dearly
beloved, on the table of the Lord, is bread and wine; but this bread and
wine, when the word is applied to it, becomes the body and blood of the
Word.”27 Here and in Sermon 272, we find a clear refusal to separate the
Eucharistic sign from the glorified body of the Lord: “So what you can
see then, is bread and a cup; that’s what even your eyes tell you; but as
for what your faith asks to be instructed about, the bread is the body of
Christ, the cup the blood of Christ.”28 This mysterious, qualified identi-
ty of the signs or external elements with Christ’s body and blood help to
account for the following, striking exhortation: “Not only do we commit
no sin in worshipping it [the Eucharist], we would sin if we did not.”29
Such an act of worship makes sense only if there is a hidden, metaphysical
change of the gifts.30
But the focus of Augustine’s Eucharistic sermons lies elsewhere,
namely, on the Eucharist as spiritual nourishment and the ecclesial ef-
fects thereof. In his Tractates on the Gospel of John, Augustine emphasizes
believers’ spiritual union with Christ in the sacrament, which comes by

25. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 168–69.

26. J. L. van der Lof, “L’eucharistie et présence réelle selon saint Augustin,” Revue des études
augustiniennes 10 (1964): 295–304.
27. Augustine, “Sermon 229,” no. 1, in Sermons (184–229Z) on the Liturgical Seasons, trans.
Edmund Hill, The Works of St. Augustine 3.6 (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 1993), 265.
28. Augustine, “Sermon 272,” in Sermons (230–272B) on the Liturgical Seasons, trans. Edmund
Hill, The Works of St. Augustine 3.7 (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 1994), 300.
29. Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms 98.9, in Expositions of the Psalms 73–98, trans. Maria
Boulding, The Works of St. Augustine 3.18 (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 2002), 475.
30. I follow Kereszty’s reading of Augustine, and his critique of Johannes Betz’s interpretation
(Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 122–23, 128n24).

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 165

eating the glorified, ­Spirit-filled body, a body seen with the eyes of faith.
Here, the distinction between the res (the hidden reality, especially the
body and blood), the virtus (the spiritual, nourishing power of his body
and blood), and the visible sign is key.31
The Fathers’ witness to Christ’s corporeal presence in the Eucharist is
clear, when they refer to the result or outcome of Eucharistic conversion.
Yet their teaching also remains discrete: we have neither a clear affirma-
tion of transubstantiation nor a contradiction thereof.32 That is, they say
little about the action by which Christ’s body and blood come upon the
altar, although they employ the language of creation or transfiguration.
Finally, I have only given a brief sample of patristic theologies of Christ’s
presence in the gifts. We will encounter still more witnesses in subsequent
chapters, when we consider patristic approaches to the consecration and
to communion.

Medieval Byzantine Theologies of Eucharistic Presence

The doctrine of Christ’s corporeal presence in the Eucharist also finds firm
adherents in the Byzantine tradition. Here, a key figure is the ­fourteenth-
century theologian Nicholas Cabasilas, who synthesized the Greek Fa-
thers and offered a doctrine that became highly influential in many eastern
Orthodox Churches. Nicholas follows the language and teaching of var-
ious Greek Fathers in speaking of the transformation or metabolē of the
Eucharistic gifts. He holds that, with the offertory, the gifts of bread and
wine have been removed from the profane sphere so as to become an offer-
ing to God. Then comes the ultimate change of the gifts, which Cabasilas
locates at the epiclesis that follows the words of institution. Here we find
a standard eastern medieval reading of the Greek Fathers through the lens
of John Damascene, an issue to be taken up later. The gifts transformed
into Christ’ body and blood are infinitely holy. The body on the altar is
the body that was truly tortured and crucified, the blood on the altar is
the very blood shed on the Cross. Cabasilas holds that one should remain

31. Augustine, tractate 26, no. 11, in Tractates on the Gospel of John, 11–27, trans. John W. Ret-
tig, The Fathers of the Church 79 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1988); also Augustine Expositions of the Psalms 98, no. 9; García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero,
175–76.
32. Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter, 1.1:318.

166 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
silent on the manner of the gifts’ conversion. He knows of but refuses to
adopt the doctrine of transubstantiation.33
However, the Church was silent neither about Christ’s two natures,
nor about his two wills. Why, then, should she remain silent on the
change of the gifts on the altar? Heresy also calls for a response. The east
did not experience great controversy about Eucharistic presence as the
west did, so the east has never had to surmount the difficulty. Theology
advances in the face of heresy, when it is compelled to give new answers
to new problems.

The Berengar Controversy and Its Aftermath

There were no major Eucharistic controversies in the early Church. In-
deed, it was accepted doctrine that the gifts on the altar underwent a
metaphysical change, so that Christ’s very body and blood became present
therein. Only some heretical sects like the Gnostics doubted this teach-
ing. The first great debate on Eucharistic presence occurred in the ninth
century, and the first doctrinal crisis came only in the eleventh century.
In this time period, a dominant older sacramental vision, which easily
saw the signs or figures as participating in the realities that they signify,
began to fade. The sacramental language of Augustine was still used, but
some medieval readers could no longer grasp its full meaning. One im-
portant example is Berengar of Tours, who employed a more dialectical,
rational type of theology, in which he applied the philosophical catego-
ries of form and matter to the Eucharist. In Berengar’s thought, the form
is part of a thing’s constitutive principles, but it also includes all of its
sensible properties. His notion of form resembles a combination of Ar-
istotle’s accidents and substantial form. Berengar used the term “matter”
to refer to the subject that has these properties, a usage that again dif-
fers from that of Aristotle. Since the sensible properties of the Eucharistic
gifts do not change at Mass, Berengar refused the notion that the form
of bread and wine changes, and since the form does not change, neither
does the substance, as the substance includes the form. Berengar had an

33. Nicholas Cabasilas, Commentary on the Divine Liturgy, trans. J. M. Hussey and P. A.
McNulty, 5th ed. (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2002), chap. 17; Job Ihor W. Get-
cha, “La théologie sacramentaire byzantine: La synthèse de Nicolas Cabasilas et Syméon de Thes-
salonique” (Habilitation Thesis, University of Lorraine, Department of Theology, 2012), 187–89.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 167

underdeveloped philosophy of substance: he maintained that substance
is wholly accessible to the senses. As a result, the sacrament and the hid-
den reality of Christ’s body and blood become separated, for the symbol
is no longer filled with what it symbolizes.34 Berengar also ridiculed the
idea that Christ’s body could simultaneously be present in heaven and on
multiple altars.35
In the year 1059, a Roman Synod compelled Berengar to retract and to
sign a confession. The latter apparently reflects the hyperrealism of some
of his contemporaries: Christ’s body and blood are said to be present “sen-
sibly [sensualiter] not only in sacrament,” so that his body is broken by
our hands and teeth.36 Still, the main purpose of the synod’s declaration
was to exclude the reduction of the Eucharist to a sign of an absent reali-
ty, a worthy aim that was clouded by problematic language and concepts.
Berengar soon retracted this confession. He later signed a second confes-
sion composed at yet another Roman Synod held in 1079 and presided
over by Pope Gregory VII. Here, we find more nuanced phrasing, and the
language of substantial change is used for the first time in a magisterial
text.37 Such language refers to a real change of the gifts, while avoiding
the problematic terms and possible confusion present in the 1059 confes-
sion. It would take the next two centuries to work out in greater detail the
meaning of transubstantiation.
A good analogy for this process of doctrinal clarification is the Creed
of Nicaea: at the first ecumenical Council, the Fathers employed new ter-
minology and essentially proposed a new metaphysical category so as to
explain what philosophy alone cannot grasp. Nicaea also went beyond
the language and concepts of Scripture, for heresy made this necessary
to explain a biblical doctrine, namely, the doctrine of the full divinity of
Christ. It took decades after the Council of Nicaea to clear up the mean-
ing of homoousios: in some ways, that issue was not resolved until the First
Council of Constantinople (381).
Numerous eleventh- and ­twelfth-century theologians helped to clari-
34. Hans Jorissen, Die Entfaltung der Transsubstantionslehre bis zum Beginn der Hochscholas-
tik, Münsterische Beiträge zur Theologie 28.1 (Münster, Germany: Aschendorff, 1965), 6–7.
35. Lawrence Feingold, The Eucharist: Mystery of Presence, Sacrifice and Communion (Steuben-
ville, Ohio: Emmaus Academic, 2018), 239.
36. DH 690.
37. DH 700.

168 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

fy the nature of the change of the Eucharistic gifts and Christ’s corporeal
presence therein, which prepared the way for later magisterial teaching
and the master synthesis worked out by Aquinas. I will summarize these
theologians’ key insights, following the work of Lawrence Feingold. First,
they developed a clear distinction between substance and accidents. Sec-
ond, this distinction allowed them to posit a change of bread substance
into body substance and wine substance into blood substance, while hold-
ing that the accidents remain the same. Third, they identified this change
as a unique miracle: reason cannot explain it simply by recourse to natural
causes. Fourth, to sidestep the excessive realism of Berengar’s opponents,
they insisted on the presence of the whole Christ in each part of the gifts:
Christ’s bones and teeth are not broken when the faithful consume his
body. Fifth, the theology of concomitance began to emerge: Christ’s body
is present with the blood, and vice versa, while his soul and divinity are
also present in each. Sixth, Hugh of St. Victor and Peter Lombard devel-
oped the triple distinction of sacramentum tantum, res et sacramentum,
and res tantum. The species of bread and wine are the sacramentum tan-
tum, which signify the body and blood (res et sacramentum) contained
therein, that is, the substance of the body and blood. The body and blood
abide with the sign, are invisible, and point to another reality, which is the
grace (res tantum) that they impart.38
Transubstantiation was first taught dogmatically in 1215 by Pope In-
nocent III and Lateran Council IV. Responding to the Cathar move-
ment, which denied the corporeal presence of Christ at Mass, the Coun-
cil defined in its constitution On the Catholic Faith that Christ’s “Body
and blood are truly contained in the sacrament of the altar under the
appearances (speciebus) of bread and wine, the bread being transubstan-
tiated (transubstantiatis) into the body by the divine power and . . . wine
into the blood.”39 The following decades witnessed growing precision and
depth to this doctrine.

38. Feingold, The Eucharist, 243–57.

39. Lateran Council IV, On the Catholic Faith, DH 802.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 169

A Systematic Theology of Eucharistic
Conversion and Presence
Unlike in the previous chapter, I will treat Protestant objections and the
Tridentine response to them after my systematic treatment of the pres-
ent Eucharistic theme. I do this for two reasons. First, the controversies
around Eucharistic presence that began in the sixteenth century remain
too obscure without a good grasp of scholastic Eucharistic doctrines on
this theme. Second, Trent and the subsequent magisterium owe much
to the scholastic developments that inform my speculative approach to
the topic. For the sake of clarity, I will also treat major twentieth- and
­twenty-first-century objections to transubstantiation at the end of this
chapter.
Lateran IV recalls that transubstantiation is first a mystery of faith,
one that we seek to explain as much as is possible, yet without exhaust-
ing the mystery. The theme of mystery will form the preface of this sec-
tion. I then briefly consider the reasons for Christ’s corporeal presence
in the Eucharist and explore the link between presence and substance. I
also include a philosophical excursus on substance and accidents, which
may benefit some readers. Thence I proceed to an analysis of transub-
stantiation and Christ’s substantial presence in the gifts, in that order.
The former stands at the service of the latter, for the doctrine of transub-
stantiation helps (1) to specify how bread and wine become Christ’s body
and blood, and (2) to exclude theories that ultimately do not posit the
conversion of bread and wine into the body and blood. The doctrine of
Christ’s substantial presence excludes reductive interpretations (e.g., the
reduction of the gifts to a mere sign) as well as sacramental hyperrealism.
It serves to protect the perpetual practice of adoring the Eucharistic gifts
(during and after the liturgy) and our faith that communion grants the
most intimate contact with Christ’s own body and blood.

A Mystery of Faith
The doctrine of Christ’s corporeal presence in the Eucharist cannot be
proven by reason, when reason simply relies on the senses: “That the true
body and blood of Christ are in this sacrament cannot be grasped by the

170 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r i st

senses, but only by faith, which relies on the authority of God himself.”40
We believe God’s word when he tells us that he gives his flesh and blood
as food and drink. The doctrine of his substantial presence serves to up-
hold the mystery as a mystery, that is, without exhausting its meaning.
Transubstantiation accounts for how Christ’s body and blood come to be
present on the altar, yet it does so in a way that does not fully satisfy the
mind. Hence, natural science will never help us to know whether Christ
is present in the Eucharist, body and blood, soul and divinity. Our senses
of vision and touch tell us that bread and wine accidents are on the altar,
which would normally lead the mind to judge that bread and wine sub-
stance are present. Only faith guided by our hearing of Christ’s words at
the Last Supper knows that the gifts on the altar have a deeper identity
that escapes our sense experience.
Here, too, an analogy with the mystery of the Incarnation seems use-
ful. No medical or scientific exam undertaken on Christ’s body during
his lifetime would have detected his divinity and Messianic identity. The
apostles’ senses and reason allowed them to recognize Jesus’ true humani-
ty, yet their hearing of his words and seeing of his miracles led them to the
judgment of faith, that he was (and is) truly the Son of God.
This Eucharistic faith, expressed by Lateran IV, Trent, and Vatican II,
rests on a series of pillars or witnesses.41 The first is the Eucharistic real-
ism of John 6, which we have already explored. The second is a long exe-
getical tradition of the Last Supper. For example, John Damascene states:
The bread and wine are not a figure of the body and blood of Christ—God for-
bid!—but the actual deified body of the Lord, because the Lord himself said:
“This is my body”; not “a figure of my body” but “my body” and not “a figure of
my blood” but “my blood.”42

One could cite many other ancient authors. In short, the symbolic read-
ing of the words of institution (which we noted is possible from a purely
exegetical, literary perspective) is excluded by tradition. A third pillar of
the conciliar teaching is the adoration we offer to the Eucharist on the

40. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 1.

41. DH 802, 1651, and 4007, respectively.
42. John Damascene, On the Orthodox Faith, bk. 4, chap. 13, trans. Frederic H. Chase, The
Fathers of the Church 37 (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1958), 360.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 171

altar. We can recall Augustine’s phrase: “Not only do we commit no sin
in worshipping it [the Eucharist], we would sin if we did not.”43 The
Church’s ancient and continuing practice of worshipping the Eucharist
makes sense only if Christ is substantially present in the gifts.

Why Christ’s Corporeal Presence?

For every mystery of salvation, we can pose the question, “Why has God
chosen to do this?” On the foundation of faith, we look for the divine
motives, specifically, in the pattern of his saving design. Why was God
born of a virgin? Why did Jesus die on the Cross? Why does he give us his
body and blood to adore and consume?
A first reason for Christ’s corporeal presence is that it gives us a victim
that we can offer in sacrifice to God. Only in this way will our sacrifice be
one with the Cross, where the same body and blood were given over for
our salvation.44 Now the various Eucharistic prayers from antiquity for-
ward consistently refer to the celebration as a sacrifice (including the of-
fering of a victim). Yet the Spirit would not allow all the liturgical families
to go astray for two millennia, for in that case, he would have been wholly
absent from the Church, leaving her in a profound error. Therefore, the
Eucharist is a sacrifice, and it must be one sacrifice with the Cross. And so,
Christ must be present as victim, which entails a bodily presence.
A second reason to insist on Christ’s corporeal presence is that it ac-
counts for the primacy of the Eucharist among the sacraments, one that
we can see consistently expressed throughout the history of the Church’s
liturgical practice. Now Christ is present as high priest and acting in each
of the sacraments: he baptizes through the priest or deacon, he confirms
through the bishop, and so forth. If the Eucharist were another ritual of
this kind of efficacy, then we would not be able to explain its place at the
summit of the sacramental order.45
A third reason for the corporeal presence is that Jesus thereby re-
sponds to our natural human longing to touch him as friend and spouse
of the soul. Now Christ has ascended to heaven body and soul, yet he
refuses to leave us orphans. Instead, he consoles us with his bodily pres-

43. Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms 98, no. 9.

44. Marshall, “The Eucharistic Presence of Christ,” 58.
45. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 1.

172 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r i st
ence as the most powerful means to friendship with him. In the words of
Aquinas:
in our pilgrimage, he does not deprive us of his bodily presence, but unites us to
himself in this sacrament through the truth of his body and blood. Therefore, he
says in John 6:57: “He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and
I in him.” Therefore, this sacrament is the sign of the greatest charity, and lifts up
our hope, on account of such a familiar union of Christ with us.46

Jesus’ disciples can love him in a properly human way, knowing him by
faith and touching him with love. As Bruce Marshall explains, “The Eu-
charist is Christ’s answer, prepared in advance, to the plea that marks the
whole of our earthly journey: ‘Stay with us Lord, for evening draws near,
the day is now far spent’ (Lk 24:29).”47 The disciples at Emmaus speak
for us. His response is to break bread, to make himself known by celebrat-
ing the Eucharist.

From Corporeal Presence to Substance

Christ is truly, corporeally present on the altar. From this statement of
faith, Aquinas and a long line of medieval and later scholastic theologians
will draw an immediate consequence: he is therefore substantially present
on the altar. This move from corporeal presence to substantial presence
may appear to be questionable. Yet in Aquinas, the underlying logic is
straightforward: if we want Christ, who is friend and the mystical bride-
groom, to be present, not just a sign or reminder of him, and not just his
power, but his very flesh and blood, then the consecrated gifts on the altar
must be the substance of his human, bodily existence. Take the picture of
your mother that hangs on the wall of your bedroom. Your mother is not
substantially present in your room, if all you have of her is that picture. It
is a sign or image of her, but it is not her in the fullest sense of the term
“is.” When she visits and enters your room, then she will be corporeally,
indeed substantially there. This also applies to Christ on the altar, though
with some key qualifications.
Aquinas along with Trent and a venerable theological tradition insist
on approaching the Eucharistic gift through the category of substance.

46. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 1.

47. Marshall, “The Eucharistic Presence of Christ,” 59.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 173

Now this is not simply a model or theory that helps us to think about
reality. Rather, Thomas’s claim is that this category authentically expresses
reality, both creaturely and divine reality. He insists that all of reality is
either substance or accident.
A metaphysical approach to the mysteries of the faith is not new. The
three divine persons are consubstantial (­Nicene-Constantinople Creed),
Christ is one person with two natures (Councils of Ephesus and Chalce-
don), and he has a human substance, which includes body and blood sub-
stance. The notions of person, nature, and substance apply to both human
and divine realities. They are part of metaphysics, and metaphysics seeks
the basic principles of everything. Only because we can grasp these cate-
gories, and only because they apply also to God, can we make intelligible,
reliable statements about him, such as: “God is one in nature.”
An objector might fear that we project merely human ideas onto the
Eucharist when we speak of the substance of Christ’s body and blood. But
the answer to such objections is that these categories are essential if we are
to say anything meaningful and reliable about God and his saving work,
while also avoiding contradictions. In fact, these categories do not reduce
the mystery to a human idea. For example, we speak of human person-
hood, but no creature has yet discovered all the richness contained in this
very reality of human personhood. We speak of the natures of things, but
Aquinas was convinced that it mostly remains a mystery to us, even the
nature of a fly! Thus, when we speak of the substance of Christ’s body and
blood, we do not exhaust a mystery or wrap our minds around it. Rather,
we arrive at a better yet still partial understanding of that mystery. Theol-
ogy proceeds on the basis of what Christ has instituted, on his words at
the Last Supper, in which he indicates the presence of a substance (body
and blood). We also protect the mystery in such a way that our adoration
of the Eucharist does not become absurd or an act of blindly following
tradition. We adore the host because the body, blood, soul, and divinity
of Christ are substantially present therein.48

48. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 1.

174 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

Excursus: The Metaphysics of Substance and Accidents
Evidently, a basic understanding of Thomas’s Aristotelian theory of sub-
stance and accidents is essential if we are to grasp his teaching on tran-
substantiation. The following introduces that topic for the n ­ on-specialist
with limited background in Aristotelian or scholastic philosophy. After
treating some basics of substance and accident, I will consider substan-
tial and accidental change. Transubstantiation is an extraordinary type of
substantial change.
We take a first look at substance and accident from three perspectives.
First, the notion of substance is in some ways inscribed into our way of
speaking. We say: “Robert has a great tan after his vacation on the beach,”
or “Mary has lost weight recently.” Skin color, body weight, and all sorts
of properties that our senses identify are attributed to things, to individ-
uals. Aristotle and Aquinas hold that language manifests something of
reality, that language is a generally reliable indicator of how things real-
ly are. Robert is a substance, the verb “has” connotes that some property
actually belongs to him (being in act), and “a tan” denotes an accidental
modification of his substance. Loosely speaking, accidents are among the
properties of things, and substance is that which has various properties.
Second, all living beings that we encounter by our senses are a collec-
tion of complex parts and properties, and these parts interact. We might
think of the human digestive process. The operations of the various parts
of things are so harmonious and complementary that they point to a
deeper unity. In scholastic terms, action manifests being, and operational
unity cannot be accounted for by appealing to a felicitous instance of an
accidental unity of parts. Rather, it points to a unity that holds the parts
together at a level that is deeper than their operation.49 Substance ulti-
mately accounts for the operational unity of things.
Third, in our experience, we find that things have a continuity of iden-
tity, despite many changes that they undergo. Take the lifespan of a hu-
man being. Most or all of her body cells are replaced during her lifetime.
Her weight, skin color, and all sorts of physical properties change, and

49. Leo J. Elders, La métaphysique de saint Thomas d’Aquin dans une perspective historique,
Bibliothèque d’histoire de la philosophie (Paris: Vrin, 1994), 282.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 175

yet, a single person endures through all these changes. Some underlying
reality remains the same, from the womb until death.
Note that a person’s soul is not the only thing that remains permanent.
I have the same body that I had many years ago, yet it is different. There
is a real identity between my body as it existed in my mother’s womb, my
body at childhood, and my body right now. Everything that has changed
about my body since my conception pertains to accidents: my brain pow-
er, the skills that I have developed, my physical strength, and so on. Each
human being is a substance, and everything that can change about a per-
son during his or her lifetime is an accident. Substance accounts for the
identity of each person’s body.
This brings us to a standard Aristotelian definition of substance and
accident: a substance is that which exists by itself (per se), and an accident
is a property or aspect of a thing that exists in another.50 In view of tran-
substantiation, Thomas will modify these two definitions in the following
way: substance is a quiddity or essence to which it belongs not to be in
another, and accident is a quiddity to which it belongs to exist in another.
Aquinas argues philosophically that being cannot be part of a metaphysi-
cal definition, because being is not a genus (hence, his theology does not
simply impose a new definition of substance and accident onto philoso-
phy). His argument helps to account for the following situation: after the
consecration, the accidents of bread and wine do not exist in a created
substance, but abide simply by a miraculous, direct divine intervention.51
Strictly speaking, they do not exist in another (except in God’s power).
Thomas here employs his distinction between being and essence: the es-
sence of a substance is apt or tends to have esse by itself, while the essence
of an accident is apt to have esse in another.52
In our day, some would object that the metaphysics of substance can-
not be reconciled with the natural sciences. However, the methods of
modern and contemporary science are adequate in order to study that as-
pect of reality that can be quantified. But substance is precisely at a level
of being that cannot be quantified. I am either fully human or not. The

50. Elders, La métaphysique de saint Thomas d’Aquin, 285, 290.

51. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 1.
52. ­Édouard-Henri Wéber, “L’incidence du traité de l’eucharistie sur la métaphysique de s.
Thomas d’Aquin,” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 77 (1993): 195–218.

176 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r i st

study of substance belongs to philosophy and theology, whose work com-
plements that of natural science, as long as each discipline recognizes the
proper limits of its methods.
We might also recall that claims against common sense or classical
philosophy that appeal to today’s natural science often carry with them a
whole series of unspoken philosophical presuppositions. For example, the
objection mentioned above may presuppose that only that aspect of the
universe that natural science can study is real. Yet natural science cannot
prove such a claim. There is no scientific proof that only the things that
science observes by its chosen methods exist. This is simply a materialistic
dogma.
I proceed to the second main part of this excursus, where I treat sub-
stantial and accidental change. These are the basic kinds of changes that
occur in creatures. In substantial change, a thing ceases to be what it is
and becomes a different kind of thing. When the wood burns, it is no lon-
ger wood. When the dog dies, it is no longer a dog. Whenever something
dies, it undergoes substantial change. This type of change always involves
either (1) generation (the coming into being of some new substance or
substances) or (2) corruption or decomposition (the ceasing to be of the
original substance or substances). In accidental change, a thing retains its
identity and is modified in some incidental way. Any change that a sub-
stance undergoes after its generation or coming to be and before its death
or corruption is an accidental change.
All change involves a terminus a quo, a terminus ad quem, and an agent
of change. In simple terms, all change has a point of origin, an outcome,
and a cause of the change. That is, every change comes from somewhere
and ends up somewhere. We can take the example of human conception.
Here, the actual fruitfulness of mother and father are the beginning term
of the change. The act of procreating causes a substantial change, and the
end result is the embryo. The mother’s egg that became fructified was sim-
ply an egg in act before procreation, but now it is no longer an egg in
act. The father’s sperm was a sperm in act, but no longer is a sperm in
act. Both egg and sperm have taken on a new actuality through the fu-
sion and pairing of their genetic material, in the embryo (an embryo in
act, which was in potency). Before conception, sperm and egg were both
potentially embryo, but not actually an embryo. Sperm and egg have been

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 177
transformed into an embryo: a substantial change. Sperm and egg mat-
ter have taken on a new form, a form of a distinct human being. With-
out sperm and egg, we can never arrive at the embryo. Both sperm and
egg had to change, losing one actuality and taking on another actuality,
so that substantial change could happen. Here we have a natural substan-
tial change. Transubstantiation will be both like and unlike natural sub-
stantial change. This account of substantial change will be important for
Thomas’s treatment of consubstantiation.53

Aquinas and Transubstantiation

The thirteenth century was the most fruitful period of reflection on tran-
substantiation. In the early Church, Arius and Nestorius had provoked
new Christological answers. In the Middle Ages, Berengar showed the
need for new explanations in Eucharistic theology.
Berengar posed a series of challenges. When we eat the Eucharist,
does our stomach digest Jesus? If we consume Jesus at Mass, does he have
to keep creating new matter in heaven in order to feed all of us?54 At the
fraction rite during Mass, do we inflict injury or pain on Jesus?55 Beren-
gar thought that he could conquer his hyperrealist opponents by show-
ing the absurd consequences of their position. Aquinas developed what is
arguably the most coherent and profound theology of transubstantiation.
This theology allowed him to maintain a rigorous Eucharistic realism
while avoiding Berengar’s traps.
Aquinas developed his doctrine of transubstantiation within a frame-
work of principles.56 First, the accidents of bread and wine are on the altar

53. For further reading on substance and accident, I recommend Leo Elders, The Metaphysics
of Being of St. Thomas Aquinas in a Historical Perspective (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 1993), chap-
ters 17–18; Edward Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction (Heusenstamm,
Germany: Editiones Scholasticae, 2014), chapter 3; and parts of two works by ­Henri-Dominique
Gardeil, Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, vol. 2, Cosmology, trans. John A. Otto
(Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2009), chap. 1; Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas,
vol. 4, Metaphysics, trans. John A. Otto (Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2009), chap. 4.
54. Gary Macy, The Theologies of the Eucharist in the Early Scholastic Period (Oxford: Claren-
don Press, 1984), 59; Marcia L. Colish, Peter Lombard, vol. 2, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History
41.2 (Leiden, Netherlands: E. J. Brill, 1994), 552–53.
55. Colish, Peter Lombard, 2:553.
56. Here I follow Marilyn McCord Adams, Some Later Medieval Theories of the Eucharist:
Thomas Aquinas, Giles of Rome, Duns Scotus and William Ockham (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2010), 85–87.

178 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r i st
before and after the consecration. The host and contents of the chalice
retain the flavor, feel, texture, nourishing, and quenching properties of
bread and wine. They have the quality, quantity, and other accidents of
bread and wine, but not the substance of bread and wine. The accidents
are real, that is, they are not a deception or just appearances. Second,
Christ’s body and blood come upon the altar by the consecration, yet his
glorified body remains in heaven. That is, the glorified body remains un-
changed in heaven, without any new perfection or modification added
to it. Third, a single body cannot be extended in two places at once. For
example, the miracle of bilocation involves a saint’s bodily presence in
one place and the appearance of that saint’s body in a second place, but
not the same body’s physical presence in both places, meaning, a person’s
bodily presence in both places with its accidents. Here, the question is:
how can Christ’s body be both in heaven and on the altar? To the eyes of
reason, this seems impossible. The theology of transubstantiation seeks to
show that Christ’s corporeal presence on the altar is not irrational. Aqui-
nas and other medievals worked out their theologies while seeking to re-
tain these three principles.
In Summa theologiae III, question 75, article 1, Thomas first estab-
lishes on the basis of Scripture and tradition that Christ is truly, corpo-
really, substantially present in the gifts. Then, in article 2, he shifts to the
theme of how the substance comes to be on the altar. Here, he considers
a number of theories that seek to explain the change of gifts on the altar.
Thomas’s method is as follows: he excludes various possibilities as theo-
logically impossible, which will leave him with only one real possibility
to explain the change. He takes as a given our faith in Christ’s corporeal
presence. Then, by eliminating the alternatives, he proceeds to show that
transubstantiation alone accounts for that presence. This is also called the
via negativa (the way of negation), and it is exactly how Aquinas proceeds
in his doctrine of God. For the Eucharist, Thomas will demonstrate the
mode of change, specify its result, or ­end-term, with technical concepts,
and recognize what remains unknown. He offers not just a theory but the
best possible description of a change that is sui generis in creation.
Thomas takes up two alternative explanations on how Christ’s body
and blood come to be substantially present on the altar: (1) consubstan-
tiation or impanation, and (2) annihilation (which is close to substitu-

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 179

tion).57 Thomas’s own approach (the third explanation) will be transub-
stantiation, which he will also refer to as conversion.
The first theory (consubstantiation) has similarities with Martin Lu-
ther’s ideas and those of the t­ wentieth-century Russian Orthodox theo-
logian Sergius Bulgakov.58 In consubstantiation, the key claim is that the
substances of bread and wine, body and blood exist together in the Eucha-
ristic gifts. We thus have a matter of addition. This theory has an advan-
tage, as it more easily accounts for how the accidents of bread and wine
continue to exist after the consecration, because they still exist in bread
and wine substance. Within this theory, we find two possible approaches.
The first says that bread and wine substance exist ­side-by-side with body
and blood substance, but without being metaphysically linked.59 This
would be “­con-substantiation” in the strict sense. A more adventuresome
version of the first theory goes back to the ­twelfth-century theologian
Rupert von Deutz and some disciples of Berengar: it is called impana-
tion. This theory proposes the union of Christ’s body to bread substance,
somewhat like the two natures being joined in Christ. Rupert apparently
thought that the hidden, invisible bodily substance of Christ takes on the
substance of bread and wine, somewhat like the Son of God taking on a
human nature in Mary’s womb.60 Rupert drew a meaning from an analo-
gy between the Incarnation and the Eucharist that the Greek Fathers had
employed for a different purpose, yet the German monk did not intend
to teach heresy.
The second theory emerged before Aquinas but gained new complex-
ity after his lifetime. Aquinas challenged the notion that God destroys
bread and wine substance so as to replace them with body and blood
substance (which is called “annihilation theory”). A similar theory was
developed later in the writings of John Duns Scotus and William of Ock-
ham. Both Franciscans held that Lateran Council IV taught that bread

57. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, aa. 2–3.

58. Sergius Bulgakov, The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, trans. Boris Jakim (Hudson, N.Y.:
Lindisfarne Books, 1997), 115–16. For Luther on consubstantiation, see the section below.
59. ­Aymon-Marie Roguet, notes to Thomas Aquinas, Somme théologique, L’eucharistie, vol. 1,
3a, Questions 73–78 (Paris: Desclée et Cie, 1960), 305.
60. P. Séjourné, “Rupert de Deutz,” in Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, ed. É. Amann, vol.
14 (Paris: L. Letouzey et Âne, 1920), col. 197.

180 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
and wine become body and blood, which is Thomas’s position.61 How-
ever, Scotus and Ockham argue that this is simply what God chose to do,
and we know that he made this choice because the Council said so. Yet
in his absolute power, God could have (in another universe or economy
of salvation) chosen to change the gifts on the altar by substituting body
substance for bread substance and blood substance for wine substance. In
this hypothesis (never realized), bread and wine substance simply cease to
be, while body and blood substance take their place. This is called “substi-
tution theory.” Here, we have a succession of substances, without a caus-
al link between them.62 Aquinas will argue against various annihilation
theories, but similar arguments of his would apply to a critique of substi-
tution theory.63
In the face of these alternative theories, Aquinas argues that God
mysteriously changes bread and wine substance into body and blood sub-
stance. Here, bread and wine become body and blood. As he explains this
teaching, Aquinas prefers the Latin term conversio over mutatio or change
to describe the conversion of the gifts. The term conversion is more specif-
ic than the word change (the latter could apply to the first two theories as
well). Latin Fathers such as Ambrose used similar terms, but with a less
precise, ­non-Aristotelian meaning. We also find similar language in the
Greek Fathers. Cyril of Jerusalem interprets the change of the gifts on the
altar as a conversion of one thing into another (metabolōn).64 Gregory of
Nyssa speaks of a t­ rans-elementation (metastoixeiosis) of bread into body
and wine into blood.65
Aquinas’s opening argument targets the first theory (consubstantia-
tion), and it is simple: Christ cannot move down from heaven onto the
altar in the sense of changing place.66 That is, he cannot move into the
host and settle there alongside bread and wine substance, in the sense of

61. Marshall, “The Eucharistic Presence of Christ,” 70–71.

62. David Burr, “Scotus and Transubstantiation,” Medieval Studies 34 (1972): 340–58; Adams,
Some Later Medieval Theories, 151.
63. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 3.
64. Cyril of Jerusalem, “Mystagogical Lecture 4,” nos. 1–2, 6–9, in Catéchèses mystagogiques,
ed. Auguste Piédagnel, trans. Pierre Paris, Sources chrétiennes 126 bis (Paris: Cerf, 1966).
65. Gregory of Nyssa, Great Catechetical Oration, 37, no. 10; cited in García Ibáñez, L’eucaris-
tia, dono e mistero, 590–91.
66. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 2.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 181

leaving heaven. A sound biblical Christology demands this stance. Fol-
lowing the Letter to the Hebrews, faith holds that the glorified Christ
permanently dwells in heaven, where he does not cease to intercede for
us. Also, Christ’s bodily existence is incorruptible and perfect: were each
Mass to effect a metaphysical change in Christ’s glorious body, then he
would either be gaining or losing some perfection in his glorified state,
which contradicts the biblical notion that he abides perpetually in a con-
summated state. This first argument excludes one possible account on be-
half of consubstantiation.
Thomas’s second argument is also straightforward: revelation tells us
what gift Christ has imparted to us in the Eucharist. The center of that
revelation is found at the Last Supper, especially as consistently interpret-
ed by tradition. Now Jesus said neither “This bread is my body,” nor “This
wine is my blood.” The words of institution themselves indicate the pres-
ence of one reality, not two: they say nothing about bread and wine. Nor
does he say “Here is my body,” as if his body were here, somewhere in the
bread.67 Consubstantiation cannot adequately account for Jesus’ words
at the Last Supper.
To this, Luther would object that 1 Corinthians and other bibli-
cal texts still speak of bread in reference to the Eucharist (1 Cor 10:16
reads: “The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of
Christ?”).68 If it is no longer bread, then why call it that? The classic an-
swer would be that the term bread recalls that Christ is the true bread
who gives us his very body as food for the life of the world ( Jn 6). As a
further response to Luther, we can say that God cannot make one thing
to be two realities (i.e., both body and bread).69 This logical and meta-
physical claim is crucial: the Eucharist has one substantial identity, not
two. In the words of Bruce Marshall: “This is the Eucharistic counterpart
to our denial, in the doctrine of the Trinity, that the Son is identical with
the Father, and to our denial, in the doctrine of the Incarnation, that hu-
manity is identical with divinity.”70 Thus, Father and Son are one nature,

67. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 2.

68. George Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast, Current Issues in
Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 29.
69. Herbert McCabe, God Still Matters, ed. Brian Davies (London: Continuum, 2002), 117.
70. Marshall, “The Eucharistic Presence of Christ,” 70.

182 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

but distinct as persons. Christ is one person, but exists in two modes, two
natures. Christ is not two things. The Eucharist is one substance, but it
abides under distinct accidents, and so the gifts cannot be both body and
bread. Luther’s appeal to Scripture ignores a contradiction of reason. But
Scripture and reason cannot contradict, hence, Luther has misread Scrip-
ture.
Aquinas’s third argument against consubstantiation is complex yet
crucial. An appeal to Christ’s body substance being added to an abiding
bread substance fails to explain a change in the Eucharist. Consubstanti-
ation posits a change, but it fails to explain why Christ’s body begins to be
present here in this host. Since the glorified Christ dwells in heaven, with-
out alteration, we cannot posit a change in him in order to explain why
he begins to be present on the altar as well (by analogy, the Incarnation
involves no change in the Son’s divinity, but a change in creation, name-
ly, the union of his humanity to his divine person). Consubstantiation
refuses a change in the bread. This means that there is no candidate left
to be the starting point, or terminus a quo, of change in the gifts. Consub-
stantiation claims that the body and blood arrive on the altar, but it fails
account for how this can occur, since neither bread nor wine change. By
analogy, without a doctrine of Trinitarian processions and relations, we
have no way of accounting for the distinction of persons in the Trinity,
leaving us with blind faith in a mystery, a teaching that remains complete-
ly dark to our minds.
Aquinas takes this argument further as he refutes annihilation the-
ory. Here, the opponent argues that bread and wine substance cease to
be present, and denies that they are converted into body and blood. This
solution appears to be simpler than that of Aquinas. But he rejects this
answer for failing to explain how body and blood substance come to be
on the altar.71 Thomas and his interlocutors agree that the accidents of
bread and wine do not change. They also agree that Christ’s glorified
body and blood substance do not change. But where does the presence
of Christ’s body and blood substance on this altar come from (terminus a
quo)? It comes from bread and wine substance, which lose their bread and
wine actuality and become (by a miraculous divine deed) body and blood

71. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 3; Adams, Some Later Medieval Theories, 89.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 183
substance. Body and blood substance are here (“under” the accidents)
only because the bread and wine substance that were here (under the ac-
cidents) have become body and blood substance. Without a terminus a
quo, a beginning term of the change, there is no change at all. Hence, both
consubstantiation and annihilation theory fail.
Let us note that an appeal to a divine creative act to save annihilation
theory will not do. For creation is not a change, just a coming to be of
what was not before. The human being’s immortal soul was not changed
when God infused it into the body, for it did not exist before that mo-
ment. The immortal soul was created ex nihilo by God. Here, we have a
divine cause and a terminus ad quem or end term (your soul exists!), but
no terminus a quo. Creation out of nothing cannot explain how Christ’s
body and blood come to be on the altar, because his body and blood pre-
exist the Mass. Christ’s body and blood already existing in glory also come
to be on the altar. Thus, this new presence of Christ cannot be the result
of an act of creation. Now because it is not creation, the change of the
gifts involves some term from which it comes: it is a change, not creation.
Consequently, a terminus a quo which is in act 1 must lose that actuality.
But since the whole of bread and wine substance cease to be, we cannot
say that something takes on a new actuality, somewhat as the mother’s egg
(in act 1) takes on the new actuality of the embryo (act 2). In Eucharistic
conversion, there is no common subject between act 1 (bread and wine)
and act 2 (body and blood). Rather, one thing is converted into some-
thing else: the most radical change possible in all of creation.
If bread and wine substance are converted into body and blood, then
nothing of bread and wine substance remains. Thus, only one substance is
present under the accidents, and consubstantiation is wrong. Now anni-
hilation or substitution theory agrees that bread and wine substance are
no longer there after the consecration. But this theory denies the causal
link between bread substance and body substance as opposite terms of
the divine deed. The theory says that bread and wine substance cease to
be, while body and blood substance begin to be here. For Thomas, it is
possible for God to withdraw existence from bread and wine substance.
But annihilation or substitution theory has no way to account for why
body and blood substance begin to be here, where they were not before.
This theory seems to imply the creation of body and blood substance,

184 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r i s t
which is unacceptable. The theory speaks of a change that is impossible,
for again, there is no terminus a quo for the change of the gifts.
Thus, the coming to be of Christ’s body on the altar depends on a
previously existing substance being changed. Why is Christ’s body pres-
ent here, in this host? Because the whole of the bread substance (not just
part of it) that was on the altar has been converted into body substance.
Nothing of bread substance is left, but instead of simply ceasing to be, it
has been miraculously turned into a body substance. Through his power,
God is the cause effecting the presence of the body on the altar (by the
consecration), which turns bread substance (terminus a quo) into body
substance (terminus ad quem). Thomas insists that the change in the gifts
on the altar involves a wholly supernatural metaphysical process, mostly
mysterious but not absurd. We are looking at a miracle that is partly in-
telligible.
We can also take a step beyond Aquinas and note something odd
about annihilation or substitution theory: it implicitly treats natural cre-
ation as accidental or superfluous for our salvation. Annihilation theo-
ry makes earthly creation nothing but the occasion of our being blessed
by the Eucharist. Here, God has to perform a miracle in order to remove
our gifts. The Church’s contribution seems to become an obstacle to sal-
vation. In substitution theory, our gifts of bread and wine must cease to
exist, so that God alone can take over. He does not elevate our gifts, but
simply replaces them. With transubstantiation, God makes creation and
the Church participate in man’s salvation. The Eucharist involves an ele-
vation of the cosmos and manifests the dignity of man’s act of bringing
gifts before God.
In Summa theologiae III, question 75, article 4, Thomas notes that
transubstantiation has no equivalent among natural types of change. It
is absolutely supernatural. Aquinas signals that his theology goes beyond
anything that Greek metaphysics ever imagined. For Aristotle, transub-
stantiation would have seemed unimaginable. Aristotle did not even hold
for creation out of nothing, so how could he imagine that God would
change the entire substance of a thing without changing the accidents of
bread and wine? In other words, transubstantiation hardly reduces the
Eucharistic mystery to Greek metaphysical categories. Rather, it takes
metaphysics to its limits, as it describes a sui generis situation.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 185

 In Summa theologiae III, question 75, article 5, Aquinas mentions ob-
jections that refer to transubstantiation as a mode of deception. The sens-
es point the mind to the presence of a substance very different from that
of Christ’s body. Thomas responds that the senses are not deceived, since
they are made to know accidents, and thus they correctly perceive bread
and wine accidents in the Eucharist. But the mind is made to know being
and substance, and here, faith in Christ’s words at the Last Supper tells us
the identity of the substance.
Aquinas has been talking about whole being conversion, that is, the
whole of bread and wine substance being changed into the substance of
Christ’s body and blood. Now a corporeal substance consists not only of
matter, but also of form (its intrinsic, n
­ on-quantifiable organizing princi-
ple). Yet the form of a human body is an immaterial soul. However, this
does not mean that bread becomes Christ’s human spirit. At Summa theo-
logiae III, question 75, article 6, Aquinas answers an objection in this way:
“the form of the bread is converted into the form of the body of Christ
insofar as the latter gives corporeal existence, not insofar as it gives exis-
tence animated by such a soul.”72 Christ’s human soul has multiple func-
tions: it gives life to the body and organizes its functions, and it also en-
ables purely spiritual acts such as knowing and loving. The former, lower
functions of the human soul are not immaterial, for they are found also
in other animals. Indeed, any body is matter organized by a substantial
form. Hence, since bread substance becomes a body, it becomes matter
that is informed, that is, a living, animated body. Furthermore, as a liv-
ing human body, it is joined to his whole human soul, and not just to its
lower functions. Thus, Christ’s immaterial soul is also present in the Eu-
charist, as it comes with the presence of his body (by concomitance, to be
discussed soon). Yet bread does not become Christ’s immaterial soul. We
thereby avoid positing a metaphysical absurdity: God can miraculously
change one body into another, one corporeal being into another, but he
cannot change bread substance into pure spirit (the immaterial soul), and
even less can he change wine substance into his divinity. Nothing ever be-
comes fully divine (properly speaking), nor does anything become a soul.

72. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 6, ad 2.

186 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

Rather, a soul begins to exist in a body. The conversion of bread and wine
substance is extraordinary, but not absurd.73
At Summa theologiae III, question 75, article 7, we learn that tran-
substantiation occurs in an instant. That is, when the signification of the
words of consecration over the host is complete, the substance of Christ’s
body is present. Similarly, when the consecration over the cup is complete,
the substance of Christ’s blood is present. The words of consecration are
not a magical formula in which each word has a supernatural effect. Rath-
er, the words taken as a whole signify a substantial change. The key is sig-
nification—more precisely, the signification of a conversion applied to
material gifts, so that the sign is not just informative but primarily perfor-
mative. The words have an instrumental power to change the gifts insofar
as they signify, and by God’s power, they realize what they signify. At the
end of the consecration pronounced over the host, the signification that
the gifts have become the gift of Christ’s body has been perfected.74 At
the end of the consecration pronounced over the cup, the signification
that the gift in the cup has become Christ’s blood has been perfected. The
utterance of the words has a temporal succession, for it takes several sec-
onds to pronounce them, but the complete signification is attained when
the sentence is finished.
We might wonder why the change of gifts is instantaneous. First, the
teaching has patristic precedence, for example, in Gregory of Nyssa.75
Second, the analogy with the Incarnation would seem to call for it: at a
particular moment, Mary in fact became the Mother of God (right at the
Annunciation, it would seem).

Aquinas on Christ’s Substantial Presence

I now turn to Christ’s abiding, substantial presence in the gifts. Here, I
take up the following ­sub-themes: (1) how the accidents mediate access
to Christ’s body and blood; (2) the presence of the whole Christ in the
sacrament; (3) the presence of Christ in each part of the gifts; (4) how

73. Stephen L. Brock, “St. Thomas and the Eucharistic Conversion,” The Thomist 65 (2001):
550–52.
74. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 7, ad 1 & 3; ­Aymon-Marie Roguet, notes
to Thomas Aquinas, Somme théologique, L’eucharistie, 1:402.
75. Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter, 1.1:305.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 187

Christ’s body and blood continue to remain in the gifts; and (5) how the
bread and wine accidents abide after transubstantiation.
After the consecration, the only substance present is that of Christ’s
body and blood. The sacrament is said to contain the body and blood of
Christ. We need to explore the precise sense that the verb “to contain”
has in this context. Here, the sacramentality of the Eucharist is key. This
sacrament is at once sign and presence, consisting of accidents and sub-
stance.
The accidents make up the visible element of the sacrament. Now a
sacramental sign mediates what it signifies: the consecration effects what
it signifies (this is “the power of the sacrament”), so that the abiding signs
of bread and wine contain what they symbolize. At Summa theologiae
III, question 76, article 1, we read: “From the power of the sacrament is
present under the species of this sacrament that into which the substance
of preexisting bread and wine is directly converted, as is signified by the
words of the form, which [words] are effective in this sacrament just as
in other sacraments.”76 Later in the same Summa article, Thomas speaks
of Christ’s body “being contained” in this sacrament.77 In the above cita-
tion, the term “species” refers to the bread and wine accidents, especially
insofar as they are signs. Thanks to the consecration, the species of bread
and wine can mediate what they signify, namely, spiritual food and drink.
In the Eucharist, the accidents mediate as signs. In the other sacraments,
a saving power is signified and thus contained, but in this sacrament, the
sign contains something greater than a saving power, for the very sub-
stance of Christ’s body and blood is in this sacrament. The conversion of
the substance makes possible an extraordinary form of sacramental medi-
ation. Christ’s body and blood come to us through the accidents, because
the latter signify the former (as nourishment), and because the consecra-
tion is an efficacious sign, one that signifies transubstantiation.78
In classical Eucharistic theology, the word “contain” has a meta­
physical-sacramental meaning: it signals that the accidents (as signs) real-
ly mediate access to Christ. The term does not have a spatial meaning, as

76. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 76, a. 1, corpus.

77. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 76, a. 1, ad 2.
78. Charles Journet, The Mass: The Presence of the Sacrifice of the Cross, trans. Victor Szczurek
(South Bend, Ind.: St. Augustine’s Press, 2008), 160.

188 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
if Christ’s body and blood were circumscribed and limited to this place.
We can contrast the manner in which the signs contain Christ’s body and
blood to the way in which the body contains the soul: my soul is currently
limited to a particular time and place, but that limitation does not apply
to Christ’s glorified humanity.79 Now we rightly adore the host and the
cup, for the Eucharistic accidents, as signs, mediate a human corporeal
substance that is joined to the divine substance. We adore Christ, whose
divine substance comes with the body and blood substance signified, as
the reality signified is present where the Eucharistic sign is found.80
The issue of containing has already led us to the question wheth-
er Christ’s body and blood are in a place (in the technical sense of the
term). In Summa theologiae III, question 76, article 5, Thomas discusses
how the dimensions or quantity of bread and wine mediate the presence
of Christ’s body and blood substance to a place (e.g., the altar on which
the host lies). Aquinas holds that the accidents or species are in a place
(thanks to quantity), but that Christ is not “in that place,” in the sense
that his corporeal substance is not limited to this altar (for then it could
not be on other altars). Thomas also firmly maintains that the bread and
wine accidents grant access to Christ’s body and blood substance in a way
that no other part of creation does. This is why we rightly adore the gifts
on the altar.
­Aymon-Marie Roguet offers the following analogy: a soul is not in
and of itself in a place, because it is pure spirit, and place pertains to phys-
ical realities. But a soul is in a place accidentally (we might say, indirectly),
insofar as it is united to a body. Through the body that is in a place (with
its body accidents), the soul is in a place.81 If you wish to reach my mind
and heart, then you need to communicate with my soul through my body.
Where is my soul? It is in my body, and it is here because or insofar as my
body is here (I return to this analogy below).
The question of how bread and wine accidents contain or are linked

79. We can also contrast the relation between the Eucharistic accidents or signs to the body
and blood with the relation of Christ’s two natures. For in the Eucharist, Christ does not actually
take on bread quantity, texture, or appearances, nor does he take on the nature of bread or wine
substance (no consubstantiation). But in the Incarnation, a human nature is joined to the very per-
son of Christ.
80. Here, I partly anticipate the discussion of concomitance below.
81. Roguet, notes to Thomas Aquinas, Somme théologique, L’eucharistie, 1:317.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 189

to Christ’s body and blood substance can mostly be answered through
the via negativa. In the Eucharist, bread accidents and body substance (or
wine accidents and blood substance) are not wholly separate, for if they
were, I would not obtain spiritual contact with Christ’s body and blood,
and his invitation to eat his body and to drink his blood would be a lie
(hence, revelation excludes that option). Yet bread accidents and body
substance are clearly not hypostatically joined. In the Eucharist, bread
accidents and body substance are linked not exactly as my accidents are
linked to my body. However, they are linked in such a way that Jesus’
body substance touches my body and soul when I touch those accidents,
and I obtain contact with his corporeal substance in a way that the spir-
itual power flowing from his body penetrates my body and soul during
communion. Still, we lack any satisfying positive description of the rela-
tion between Christ’s corporeal substance and the Eucharistic accidents.
This should not surprise us, for Trinitarian theology and other aspects of
theology function very similarly.
I should add one last point to the question of this link. Normally,
accidents and substance stand in a relation of mutual dependence. The
substance gives existence to the accidents, but the substance of my body
needs the accidents to function in a particular mode in order for it to
continue to exist. This is because the accidents are real modifications of
creaturely substances. But Christ’s body and blood substance do not take
on this relation of mutual dependence with bread and wine accidents, for
the latter are not modifications of his body and blood substance. In other
words, when a host is consumed, the substance of Christ is not consumed.
Rather, bread accidents are consumed. However, Christ’s body substance
acts upon the person communing in the host, and his body acts through
the bread accidents. This is analogous to the Incarnation, where Christ
speaks, touches, and heals those who come to him with faith and a desire
for healing, while his divine substance remains immutable, all the while
being contained in his body and soul.
I turn to the second theme concerning Christ’s substantial presence in
the Eucharist. The Church has consistently believed held that the whole
Christ is present in the gifts: his body and blood, soul and divinity. This
faith is manifested in the longstanding practice of adoring the consecrat-
ed gifts. It also has a good biblical foundation, namely, in John 6, espe-

190 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
cially as interpreted by Cyril of Alexandria and Thomas Aquinas: Christ’s
flesh and blood are vivifying because they are joined to his divinity.82
Theology is faith seeking understanding, and we can better see the
intelligibility of Eucharistic faith with the help of the notion of con-
comitance. In the sacraments, the spiritual gift signified (by word and
gesture) in the sacramental materials or act is made present by the very
act of signification. The words of institution directly signify the presence
of Christ’s body and blood. His body and blood substance are therefore
present by “the power of the sacrament” or the fruitfulness of signification
enacted in persona Christi. Now the words of consecration do not directly
signify the presence of Christ’s divinity. More specifically, by the conse-
cration, bread substance becomes body substance, and wine substance be-
comes blood substance.83 The doctrine of concomitance says that what-
ever is now really united to Christ’s body is also present in the Eucharist.
The glorified Christ’s body is truly joined to his immaterial soul and to his
divinity. Thus, when bread substance is converted into Christ’s risen body
at the consecration, his soul also becomes present in the host. The same
holds for his divinity: It is present in the host because the body is present.
Indeed, his body and blood are united, and so the blood is present in the
host. Finally, when the wine is converted into the blood, his body, soul,
and divinity are also present in the cup.
Here, the claim is not that bread substance becomes Christ’s soul or
divinity. As we saw earlier, God converts one material substance into an-
other, but he does not convert any creaturely reality into the divinity, nor
any material reality into an immaterial soul (this would be a metaphysical
absurdity). Hence, we say that Christ’s soul and divinity become present
with the body and the blood. Substantial conversion pertains to the latter,
not the former.
The doctrine of concomitance has important pastoral implications.
The faithful who receive only the host still receive the whole Christ. The
layman who is very intolerant of gluten and drinks only from the cup
thereby receives the whole Christ. In each case, the sign of communion is
imperfect, yet spiritual contact with Christ’s body and blood is obtained.
Since the whole Christ is present in the gifts, the accidents of his body
82. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 6, no. 959.
83. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 76, a. 2.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 191

and blood are also present therein, but by mode of substance, not by
mode of accident.84 His accidents are present because of concomitance,
meaning, they cannot be separated from his body and blood substance.
His accidents such as quantity are present in the gifts, but they do not
extend in space. His body and blood have a particular dimension in heav-
en, where his accidents function in their proper, glorified mode. His acci-
dents are in the Eucharistic gifts, but as they are present by mode of sub-
stance, they do not function in this sacrament as accidents. This accounts
for the fact that his body and blood substance are not made available to
our sense of vision and touch.
This may be the strangest aspect of the doctrine of Christ’s substan-
tial presence in the Eucharist, yet we rightly affirm it. First, the accidents
of Christ’s body are really united to his glorified body: we cannot sepa-
rate them (for his risen body would not be truly human without them).
Second, the accidents cannot be present by their proper mode, since this
would entail (a) Christ leaving heaven and (b) a sensible change in the
gifts on the altar. Third, the only way we can posit the presence of Christ’s
body accidents in the Eucharist is by the only other mode of presence
that remains, namely, by mode of substance. Again, we employ the via
negativa: no other explanation is possible, and while our positive mental
grasp of this claim is minimal, it remains coherent. We cannot imagine
this presence, just as we cannot imagine substance, yet we can conceive it.
Christ’s body accidents are present in the gifts, but they do not oper-
ate as accidents. Here, we can draw a comparison with a scene from the
Book of Daniel, chapter 3, in which three young Israelites are thrown into
a great furnace. The fire is present, it shines but it does not burn: the three
are miraculously preserved from death. The substance and accidents of
the fire are present, but much of its operation or activity is miraculously
impeded.85 Similarly, the accidents of Christ’s glorified body are present
in the Eucharist, but without limiting his body to this or that altar, and
without giving his body extension in space here and now.
The consequence for Eucharistic piety is that a body substance that

84. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 76, a. 4.

85. Joseph Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik in sieben Büchern, 7th ed., vol. 3, Wissenschaftliche
Bibliothek, Series 1: Theologische Lehrbücher 22 (Paderborn, Germany: Ferdinand Schöningh,
1922), 230–31.

192 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

is not extended in space by its own accidents cannot be harmed or di-
minished. In other words, this is the metaphysical explanation for why
we cannot crush Jesus’ bones or teeth by eating the Eucharist, precisely
because his whole body is present by mode of substance in the host, and
so is present in an impassible way.86
The previous paragraphs already touch on the third theme of this sec-
tion: the whole of Christ’s body and blood substance are present in each
part of the gifts, each small part of the host, each drop contained in the
cup. Of course, his soul and divinity are also in those parts.
Let us note that liturgical practice implies this doctrine. The amount
of bread and wine species consumed has never been linked with a greater
or lesser spiritual fruitfulness of communion. Furthermore, over the cen-
turies, the sacred species have been treated with the greatest reverence,
even when only some smaller fragments of hosts remain on a paten or a
few drops remain in the chalice. This practice would border on idolatry if
Christ himself were not present in these species.
Interestingly, the doctrine of substance illumines both liturgical prac-
tices just mentioned, for, in and of itself, substance is not quantifiable.
A substance is present in act or not, whereas accidents can be greater or
less. In the Eucharist, Christ’s body is present only in a substantial mode,
which means that it must be equally present in each part of the gifts, with-
in each host (large or small), and also within each part of the host. Like-
wise, his blood is present only in a substantial mode, and so it is equally
present in each drop contained in the cup. Indeed, all of Christ is present
only by mode of substance. The question: “How much Christ is there?” is
somewhat like asking, “How much of you is present in your body?”
Lawrence Feingold notes how the medieval theologian Guitmund of
Aversa (d. 1090/1095) uses in an illuminative way the analogy between
the soul’s presence in the body and the presence of Christ’s body and
blood substance in this sacrament. The human soul is fully present and
operative in every part of the body to which it belongs. By its nature, the
soul cannot be divided, for it does not have separable parts. Similarly,
Christ’s body and blood substance cannot be divided.87 Hence, Christ

86. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 7.

87. Feingold, The Eucharist, 251–52, 280. Guitmund of Aversa, On the Truth of the Body and
Blood of Christ in the Eucharist, trans. Mark G. Vaillancourt, The Fathers of the Church, Mediaeval

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 193
is never harmed when the priest breaks the hosts to prepare for commu-
nion. Rather, we divide the sign, so that we do not affect Christ’s sub-
stance. We modify the quantity of the sign, and quantity is an accident.
This aspect of the doctrine of substance helps us to enter into our
fourth theme, namely, how long Jesus’ presence in the gifts perdures.
Christ remains in the gifts as long as the accidents of bread and wine con-
tinue to exist and to signify a substance (his body and blood as spiritual
nourishment).88 The doctrine of enduring substance linked to the per-
during accidents reinforces the fact that Christ’s substantial presence is an
objective reality, one that does not depend on our faith for its actuality.
Nor does he cease to be corporeally present when the liturgy ends, that is,
as long as the accidents of the host (in the tabernacle) abide.
We can understand this notion by going back to the sign function
of accidents: the Eucharist is a sacrament, and sacraments are signs of a
sanctifying reality. This is the primary definition of the sacraments. The
species are signs by which Christ is present (the Eucharist) and his grace
is given (as a sacrament of the New Covenant). The Eucharist is a sign
insofar as it is visible and sensible. The accidents function as signs of the
body and blood of Jesus given as food and drink (via the consecration and
the liturgical setting). When the accidents decompose, when the host no
longer tastes like bread and the content of the cup no longer tastes like
wine, then the sign of spiritual food and drink ceases to be. As the sign
ceases, the sacrament comes to an end, and so, the substance of Christ’s
body is no longer there, for Christ is present in the Eucharist in a sacra-
mental mode. The Eucharistic body is given in the mode of a sign of spir-
itual nourishment, of the Passover lamb. Once this sign ceases to be (as a
sign), the body and blood present through that sign are no longer present.
Note that we are dealing with the objective capacity of the host to sig-
nify, and not whether a person sees the host so that it can actually signify
to someone right now (e.g., the hosts in a closed tabernacle). We are not
concerned with the fact that the host is perceived as a sign, but with the
fact that it is a sign and has the capacity to signify.
The accidents help us to discern the presence of Christ in the host and

Continuation 10 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2009), bk. 1, chap.
19, p. 107.
88. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 76, a. 6; q. 77, a. 4.

194 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r i st
in the cup, for through the liturgical setting and the words of consecra-
tion, they have become signs of Christ’s presence. A consecrated putrefied
host is no longer the body, while a putrefying host is no longer the Eu-
charist at some point in the process of corruption. A significant change
in taste, solidity, color, or size causes the substance of the body to cease.
We thus have borderline cases, and these lead us to exercise prudence. We
place a putrefying host into a glass of water, and we treat the small frag-
ments in patens and on corporals or altar cloths as the body of Christ,
for we do not presume to have metaphysical certitude about the identity
of the underlying substance when no such certitude can be attained. By
comparison, a crumb of bread is still bread, but when its quantity is radi-
cally reduced, bread substance ceases to be.
At this point, one might wonder whether Eucharistic miracles (in
which the accidents change), can be harmonized with this doctrine. Aqui-
nas holds that, in the case of an enduring miracle (as when human flesh is
seen or a host becomes bloody and remains in this way), the key to Christ’s
substantial presence is the perdurance of the most basic accident, name-
ly, the quantity of the bread (or wine) species. If the latter remains stable,
then some of the accidents abide, and so do Christ’s body and blood. The
changes in the other accidents only strengthen the ­sign-value, for “it be-
comes the figure of the truth itself, namely, to show by the miraculous ap-
parition that in the sacrament there is truly Christ’s body and blood.”89
Thomas’s highly metaphysical theology of how Christ’s presence
perdures in the Eucharist provides a theological account of two vener-
able practices. First, it shows the reasonableness of an ancient ecclesi-
al practice, namely, bringing the Eucharist to the h ­ ome-bound and the
sick after Mass (as witnessed by Justin Martyr and Cyprian).90 Already
in the second and third centuries, this was an uncontroversial practice.
Also, in ­fourth-century Egypt, during the Church’s persecution, the laity
could take communion home and consume it during the week.91 Second,

89. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 76, a. 8.

90. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chap. 67; Cyprian of Carthage, Ceux qui sont tombés (De lap-
sis), trans. Michel Poirier, notes by Graeme Clark, Sources chrétiennes 547 (Paris: Cerf, 2012), no.
26. See also Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik, 3:212.
91. Basil the Great, “Epistle 93,” in Letters 1–185, trans. Agnes Claire Way, notes by Roy J.
Deferrari, The Fathers of the Church 13 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 1951).

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 195

Aquinas’s doctrine explains the reverence given to the consecrated gifts
reserved in a special place ever since the eleventh and twelfth centuries.92
This practice involves a harmonious development of the primitive eccle-
sial traditions just mentioned: in both cases, we find a pastoral expression
of the firm conviction that the presence of Christ abides in the consecrat-
ed host beyond the time of the Eucharistic liturgy. Eucharistic theology
needs to manifest the reasonableness of longstanding liturgical and pas-
toral practices.
Up to this point, I have focused on the miraculous change of bread
and wine substance and the abiding, supernatural presence of Christ’s
body and blood substance, a single miracle that continues to have its ef-
fect as long as the bread and wine accidents do not corrupt. I now turn to
the second miracle involved in every consecration: the abiding presence
of bread and wine accidents. This is our fifth and last theme within the
broader topic of Christ’s substantial Eucharistic presence.
For Aquinas, it is important to emphasize the reality of these acci-
dents. First, bread and wine accidents are essential for the Eucharist’s sac-
ramental nature: it involves a spiritual gift imparted via visible signs. The
accidents allow for the signification of spiritual food and drink. If we are
to eat Christ’s body and drink his blood, then we need to eat and drink
sensibly and sacramentally. Second, our senses are not deceived, for in-
deed, they are made to know accidents, so the sensing of bread and wine
is exactly what should occur at Mass.93 Third, the senses fall short, be-
cause sacraments belong to the mystery of faith. Normally, the accidents
manifest to us the nature of the substance that underlies them, for exam-
ple, as the use of language (an action, which is an accident) manifests the
presence of a rational, human substance. As noted, it belongs to the in-
tellect to know substance, and the liturgy communicates this truth about
the substance of the gifts on the altar by the words of consecration, other
prayers, and various gestures. Fourth, the reality of the accidents enables
Christ’s simultaneous substantial presence on multiple altars and in mul-
tiple tabernacles. A body substance is always present with some accidents
functioning in their proper mode. But Christ’s own body accidents can

92. Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik, 3:215.

93. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 75, a. 5, ad 2.

196 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e of Ch r is t
function in their proper mode only in heaven. Hence, he is present in the
liturgy through accidents that are not his.
Bread and wine accidents continue to exist and to operate after tran-
substantiation: the host nourishes, the cup can inebriate. How can this
be? Here, theology’s task is to show that the Eucharist does not involve an
absurdity, and to manifest the intelligibility of the faith without exhaust-
ing its richness.
With the consecration, the bread and wine accidents lose their meta-
physical subject whence they derived their existence (bread and wine
substance). At Summa theologiae III, question 77, article 1, Aquinas’s an-
swer follows from his previous arguments that eliminate the possibility of
consubstantiation. The latter theory can easily account for the existence
of bread and wine accidents after the consecration, while the doctrine
of transubstantiation does so with greater difficulty. In this text, Thom-
as also refutes various alternative accounts that seek new subjects or un-
derlying substances that might hold bread and wine accidents in being:
the glorified body of Christ, the surrounding air, etc. The only possibil-
ity left is for God to intervene directly and to preserve the accidents in
existence.94 Here, divine power does what substance normally does for
its accidents. The notion of a divine intervention allowing ­subject-less
accidents to exist was commonly held from Peter Lombard forward.95
Thomas gives it more nuance via a metaphysical principle partly derived
from Neoplatonism:96
Since an effect depends more on the first cause than the second cause, God, who
is the first cause of substance and accident, can through his own infinite power
conserve an accident in being, [even] with the substance having been taken away,
the substance through which an accident was conserved in being as through its
proper cause; just as God can also produce other effects of natural causes without
the natural causes, as when he formed a human body in the womb of the Virgin
with a male seed.97

94. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 1; Jörgen Vijgen, The Status of Eucharistic
Accidents ‘sine subiecto’, Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte des Dominikanerordens, Neue
Folge 20 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2013), 247.
95. Wéber, “L’incidence du traité,” 207.
96. Vijgen, The Status of Eucharistic Accidents, 249.
97. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 1.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 197

All creatures are secondary causes, whose ability to be causes depends
on God as the first cause of existence. Their being, nature, and operative
power depend on God’s operative power. In every instance of actualiza-
tion (or efficient causality), a created cause transmits actuality derived
from the first cause.98 Bread and wine substance normally transmit esse
to bread and wine accidents. The Creator is intimately involved in every
creatures’ exercise of efficient causality (one being acting on another) as
well as the causal efficacy of substances upon their accidents. Now what
secondary causes can do, the primary or divine cause can also do inde-
pendently of them, as long as it does not contradict reason. Thus, the ac-
cidents of bread and wine continue to have the being that they possessed
before the consecration. This is illustrated by Mary’s virginal conception,
where divine power substitutes for the male seed, and the normal two sec-
ondary causes of ­pro-creation are reduced to one.
On this point, Thomas’s theology benefits considerably from his orig-
inal metaphysics, namely, the real distinction between essence and exis-
tence. One might object that Aquinas contradicts sound metaphysics by
making an accident exist “by itself,” which essentially turns it into a sub-
stance. But Thomas responds that “to exist by itself ” cannot be part of a
proper definition of accidents, since definitions should not include being,
as being is not a genre. Instead, Thomas modifies Aristotle’s definition of
accidents in the following way: to be an accident is to have “a quiddity to
which it belongs to have being in another.”99 Here, the focus is on essence
or quiddity. An accident is not a thing, but a form, and that form includes
a real distinction of quiddity or essence and existence. It normally belongs
to accidents to have being or existence from their substance. But in the
case of the Eucharist, the accidents have being directly from the primary
cause, without the normal mediation of a substance.
Aquinas is ­well-known in the history of theology for proposing that
quantity is the most basic accident of corporeal beings. Quantity medi-
ates being to the other accidents, namely, both the being received from

98. For a good overview of Aquinas’s doctrine of primary and secondary causality, see Michael
J. Dodds, Unlocking Divine Action: Contemporary Science and Thomas Aquinas (Washington, D.C.:
The Catholic University of America Press, 2012), 190–99.
99. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 1, ad 2; Wéber, “L’incidence du traité,”
211–17.

198 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

the substance before Eucharistic conversion and the being upheld direct-
ly by God’s power after the conversion of the gifts. All other accidents
presuppose quantity, and it becomes their “­quasi-subject” after the con-
secration. This subtle teaching need not retain us here.100 However, we
can note that this stance allows Thomas to economize on the number of
miracles: God does not directly uphold each accident in being, but rather
does so through a single act of giving esse to quantity. The same divine act
enables the accidents to continue to operate in their normal mode (such
as the operation of nourishing bodies).101 Action follows upon being and
depends on it. Again, Thomas keeps the number of miracles to the mini-
mum necessary to account for Eucharistic faith.
We can look back to the twin doctrines of transubstantiation and
Christ’s substantial presence in the gifts, and see how they resolve vari-
ous thorny problems. Both doctrines help to explain the abiding acci-
dents that our senses perceive. They account for the possibility of mul-
tiple Masses being celebrated simultaneously in the world, where Christ
becomes corporeally present on many altars at once, without affecting his
glorified existence in heaven. Both doctrines avoid the crude realism of
the first confession that was demanded of Berengar. We do not crunch
Jesus’ bones, for we do no violence to the substance of his body when we
consume the host and drink from the cup. Christ’s body can be broken
only in its proper species, that is, in its proper accidents. This happened
during his Passion, while the resurrected and ascended Lord has become
utterly impassible.

Two Analogies for the Eucharist: The Soul in

the Body and the Incarnation
We have seen that some Greek Fathers compare Christ’s presence in the
Eucharistic gifts to the Incarnation. I also pointed to Guitmund of Aver-
sa’s analogy between the soul’s presence in the body and the presence of
Christ’s whole body and blood in each part of the host and cup. I wish
to pursue both analogies further. The doctrines of transubstantiation and
Christ’s substantial presence always will be difficult to communicate to
100. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 2; Vijgen, The Status of Eucharistic
Accidents, 252–57.
101. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 77, a. 3.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 199

those with little philosophical formation. When used within proper lim-
its, these two analogies can render the doctrines more accessible. I begin
with the analogy between the soul’s presence in the body and the pres-
ence of Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharistic gifts.102 My aim in us-
ing this analogy is not to argue for a purely spiritual presence of Christ on
the altar. Each analogy has its limits.
The first point of comparison is more of a contrast, as it helps to
keep before our eyes the distance between a sacrament’s unity (between
the sign and the reality signified) and the unity of the human being (of
soul and body, or form and matter, a unity of substance). The human soul
is intimately joined to the body, yet soul and body are distinct. Christ’s
body and blood are really distinct from the accidents of bread and wine:
they are united only insofar as the reality signified (the substance) is in
the sign. Here, substance and accidents are distinct in their nature and
existence. Now your soul is an immaterial reality, unlike your body. That
is why it is possible for your soul to be separated from your body at death.
Christ’s body and blood substance can and do exist separately from the
accidents of bread and wine, somewhat as the soul can be separated from
the body: Christ exists in heaven, even if no Mass is celebrated. By con-
trast, the body cannot exist without the soul, but bread and wine acci-
dents can exist without the body and blood substance.
Second, your body mediates access to your soul and your whole per-
son. The way to communicate with you and your soul is through your
body. By bodily communication, I gain some access to your mind and
your heart. Christ’s body and blood are present to us through the acci-
dents, somewhat as your soul is present to me through your body. Christ’s
body and blood are accessed through the accidents of bread and of wine,
insofar as they are signs of his body and blood.
Third, following Guitmund’s analogy, your soul is present in your
whole body. Your soul is present in the body in a ­non-quantifiable way,
as principle of operation, as giving life. The soul is not divided, as if fifty
percent were present in the brain, and fifty percent in the other parts of
the body. The soul is indivisible, so that it is wholly present in each part
of the body. Yet if some part of the body were lost, the soul would not di-

102. Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik, 3:228.

200 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e o f Ch r i st
minish. By its nature, the soul cannot be quantified, for it is an immaterial
reality. Rather, it is joined to a quantifiable body, without itself becoming
quantifiable. The question, “How much soul do you have?” is absurd. All
of Christ’s body substance is present in the consecrated host, and if the
host is divided, the whole Christ will still be in each part, as the signified
is in the sign. Like an immaterial soul, a substance is neither more nor less,
though corporeal substance in general is linked with an accident of quan-
tity (while remaining distinct from the accidents). A substance either
exists wholly in act or exists only in potency. Thus, before your parents
conceived you, you were only in potency, your existence was a possibility
but not actual. After your conception in your mother’s womb, you existed
in act. As the human body ages, it can diminish, while the soul remains
wholly present until death. In the Eucharist, the quantity of bread and
wine can diminish, but Christ’s body and blood substance remain pres-
ent, until the accidents corrupt. In and of themselves, Christ’s body and
blood do not depend on the accidents for anything, in contrast to the
s­ oul-body relation.
Fourth, both the soul and Christ’s substance are invisible to our eyes,
yet they are real. The soul is largely inaccessible to the methods of natural
science, for it is not a physical reality that our measuring instruments can
detect, nor can it be quantified. We know about the soul as a result of
philosophy’s reasoning from visible effects to the cause needed to account
for those effects (e.g., the kind of intelligence needed to explain the exis-
tence of language, the proper subject for abstract thought, etc.). Likewise,
in the natural realm, substance is detected by the intellect, not by the
senses. Also, the fact that you are a single substance cannot be discovered
by scientific investigation: rather, it is a philosophical claim. We discover
substance because we seek to account for the operative unity of things,
their stable identity that goes beyond a simple sum of quantifiable parts
like body cells, organs, and systems. Philosophy tells us about the soul and
substance, but science does not. For similar reasons, we would not expect
our sense observation or scientific investigation into the chemical consti-
tution of consecrated hosts to gain insight about the presence or absence
of Christ’s body and blood substance, yet the latter is very real, just as the
soul and my own substance are real. Reason can discover the existence of
soul and substance in natural things, and similarly, faith accepts the exis-

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 201

tence of Christ’s body and blood substance in this Eucharist, by belief in
his words at the Last Supper.
The analogy between the soul’s presence in the body and Christ’s sub-
stantial presence in the Eucharistic gifts is helpful, but it can also lead us
astray. For example, the soul is immaterial, while the substance of Christ’s
body and blood are a corporeal reality. There is no perfect analogy for the
Eucharist.
I now turn to the second analogy: the Incarnation and Christ’s sub-
stantial presence in the Eucharist. This analogy must be applied with great
care. The key is to focus on the Eucharist as the continuation of the Incar-
nation in sacramental form, which is to say that the Eucharist is not a new
Incarnation. The Eucharist allows the friends of Christ to encounter him
in a way similar to his first disciples’ experience during his earthly life.
First, in the Incarnation, the Logos becomes present in the flesh. The
Son of God himself abides among us. He does not simply act in a new
way, but his very divine substance becomes accessible in a concrete, visible
form. There are different kinds of divine presence: God abides in the Jeru-
salem temple, he dwells in his saints and prophets, is present in his Word
whereby he speaks to us, and he is present as acting in all the sacraments.
But nothing matches the divine presence in the body and soul of Jesus
of Nazareth. Likewise, Eucharistic presence surpasses God’s other modes
of presence, his presence in creatures, in human beings, in holy persons,
in the Scriptures, and so on. Now clearly, presence is an analogous term.
By the Incarnation, the Son of God comes to a particular time and place.
Similarly, by transubstantiation, the glorified body of Christ (joined to
his divinity) become substantially present on the altar, and this surpasses
his operative presence in our hearts by grace. In baptism and any other
sacrament, we have Christ’s operative presence, but in the Eucharist, we
have that and more.
Second, the Incarnation of the Son of God in the womb of Mary goes
beyond the laws of nature. The change is miraculous, for a true human
nature is joined hypostatically to the eternal Son. Likewise, Christ’s sub-
stantial presence in the sacrament surpasses nature’s laws.
Third, Christ’s humanity is real, it is not an illusion. The bread and
wine accidents are real as well. God’s saving action therefore respects the
integrity of creation.

202 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce o f Ch r i st

 Fourth, the Son’s being and action were not limited to one place by
the Incarnation. His divine substance did not depart from heaven, as
kenosis is not a literal emptying of the Son’s divinity. Nor was the saving
action of the Son limited to those immediately present to the body of Je-
sus. Similarly, Christ’s glorified body can be on many altars at once, all the
while remaining in heaven. Furthermore, the spiritual power of Christ’s
­Spirit-filled body can transform many believers at the same time. How-
ever, this analogy is limited for, contra Luther, Christ’s body is not omni-
present as is Christ’s divinity.
Fifth, when Christ suffered on Calvary, his divinity was neither
wounded nor diminished, for he suffered only in his humanity. His body
was crushed, but not his divine nature. We crush bread accidents when
we digest a host, yet we do not harm or diminish Christ’s glorified body,
for that body remains immutable.
Sixth, by touching Christ’s humanity, we enter into spiritual contact
with the Logos and are saved. Similarly, when we touch the Eucharistic
signs, we eat Christ’s body and are saved. The metaphysical change of the
gifts enables a mediation, one that divinizes, just as the Incarnation offers
a new mediation of God’s nature that divinizes us. Yet in neither case are
we dealing with magic, for faith makes this touch spiritually l­ ife-giving.
Seventh, to extend the last point, in Jesus, we have a presence that is
at once stable and dynamic: Christ touches the sick and heals them, he
tells sinners that they are forgiven and makes it to be so. This is possible
because the divine nature dwells in bodily form. In the Eucharist, we also
have a stable and a dynamic presence, for Jesus substantially abides on the
altar, and his body is brimming over with divine power and charity. Nei-
ther in Christ nor in the Eucharist should we oppose stable and dynamic
presence. Rather, the latter follows from the former. Christology should
inform our Eucharistic theology. In other words, contemporary critiques
of a “static” Eucharistic presence are a theological ­cul-de-sac.
Eighth, in Jesus, the apostles saw a man and confessed the presence of
the Son of God. In the Eucharist, we see bread and wine but confess the
presence of Christ’s body and blood, as well as his soul and divinity. The
apostles adored and worshipped Christ, while we adore and worship him
in the host and cup. We and the apostles worship the Word incarnate.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 203

Protestant Objections and Conciliar Responses
Martin Luther on Eucharistic Presence
The great medieval scholastic theologians worked out somewhat diverse
accounts of transubstantiation. In the thirteenth century, some philoso-
phers suggested that the doctrine contradicted reason. In the fourteenth
century, the Oxford theologian John Wycliffe expressed the same cri-
tique. He considered substance to be inseparable from physical extension,
so he could accept neither transubstantiation nor consubstantiation.103
Wycliffe had some followers, yet the most influential critique of transub-
stantiation was formulated by Martin Luther. Let us note that his stance
emerged against the background of late medieval nominalist philosophy
that had already attacked transubstantiation as irrational.
Throughout his life, Luther affirmed a corporeal presence of Christ in
the Eucharist: he believed that the faithful eat Christ’s flesh and drink his
blood. For Luther, the words of institution need to be taken literally.104
Luther thinks that the words of institution are God’s word that effect the
presence of Christ’s body and blood on the altar.105 However, he rejects
any scholastic notion of the priest’s instrumental power as a means where-
by God effects the change of the gifts on the altar.
Luther sees transubstantiation as a vain philosophical attempt to ex-
plain a mystery.106 He holds for what can be called “­con-substantiation,”
for he maintains that the bread and wine wholly abide, while the body
and blood become present to us in and through the bread and wine.
Luther justified this in two ways. First, he appeals to Paul’s language in
1 Corinthians 11:26: “As often as you eat this bread and drink the cup,
you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” Here, Luther takes Paul to

103. Ian Christopher Levy, “The Eucharist in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries,” in The
Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology, ed. Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2015), 238–43.
104. Frank Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi spiritualis praesentiae: Die Abendmahlslehre des
Genfer Reformators Johannes Calvin aus ­römisch-katholischer Perspektive, Reformed Historical The-
ology 19 (Göttingen, Germany: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2012), 44–47.
105. Joachim Staedtke, “Abendmahl III/3: Reformationszeit,” in Theologische Realenzyklopä-
die, vol. 1, ed. Gerhard Kraus and Gerhard L. Müller (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977), 113.
106. Mickey L. Mattox, “Sacraments in the Lutheran Reformation,” in Boersma and Levering,
The Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology, 276.

204 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e o f Ch r is t
speak literally. Second, he argues by analogy with the Incarnation. Luther
appeals to Cyril of Alexandria as he argues that, as the divinity is joined
to the humanity and the latter becomes ­life-giving, so bread and wine
become ­life-giving by their conjunction with the body and blood.107 But
Luther also refused to explain how they are joined.108
Generally, Luther scholars reject the label of consubstantiation and ar-
gue that the German Reformer never affirmed any theology of substance.
However, this misses a crucial distinction. Trent appeals to a notion of
substance that transcends the limits of Aristotelian philosophy (see be-
low). In this sense, the kind of consubstantiation theory that Trent re-
jects also includes Luther’s theory, and the use of the term “substance”
is appropriate to describe Luther’s theology: he held that the ­deep-down
being or core reality of bread and wine remained, and that is partly what
Trent means by substance. For the word primarily refers to the essential
being of the thing, that aspect of things which is beyond the appearances.
To explain how Christ can be really present on many altars in the
world, Luther proposes the omnipresence or ubiquity of Christ’s resur-
rected body. Just as God is present everywhere by his divine nature, so
the Son of God is everywhere in his human nature.109 Luther appeals to
the hypostatic union: the one person of Christ is inseparable from his
divine and human nature. Luther goes well beyond saying that Christ’s
humanity operates everywhere: he thinks Christ is personally present in
his two natures throughout the universe. Luther posits the closest relation
between the two natures, at the risk of mingling them.110 He attributes
divine properties to Christ’s human nature, in order to account for how
Christ’s body and blood can be simultaneously present on the altar and in
heaven. No Catholic theology of transubstantiation makes such a move.
Finally, Luther does not think that Christ’s Presence depends on the
faith of the recipient of communion. Rather, Christ’s flesh and blood are
received even by sinners and unbelievers. Luther holds for an objective

107. Ian Christopher Levy, “Affirming Real Presence from a Historical Perspective,” Lexington
Theological Quarterly 38 (2003): 33.
108. Gordon A. Jensen, “Luther on the Lord’s Supper,” in The Oxford Handbook of Martin Lu-
ther’s Theology, ed. Robert Kolb, Irene Dingel, and L’Ubomir Batka (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2014), 328.
109. Mattox, “Sacraments in the Lutheran Reformation,” 279.
110. Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi, 48–50.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 205

presence of Christ’s flesh and blood, one that comes via the celebration of
the Last Supper, and not the individual subject’s spiritual disposition.111

Huldrych Zwingli’s Eucharistic Theology

One of the most influential early Protestant Eucharistic doctrines was de-
veloped by the Swiss theologian Huldrych Zwingli. It finds echoes among
contemporary Pentecostals and various nondenominational Protestants.
Zwingli sees both the Eucharist and baptism as mere symbols. He rejects
any corporeal change in the gifts on the altar, and even criticizes Luther
on this point.112 As we saw in our first chapter, Zwingli holds that a cor-
poreal presence of Christ would lead to cannibalism. Zwingli argues that,
at the Last Supper, the words of institution really mean, “This signifies
my body,” and “This signifies my blood.” He tends to separate the spiritu-
al and corporeal realms (perhaps under the influence of Platonism). He
cannot see how bread and wine can be more than physical indications or
representations of God’s invisible work. For Zwingli, the sacraments oper-
ate parallel to and at the same time as God’s invisible work, but God does
not work through the sacraments in order to give us grace. Zwingli argues
that Christ’s body and blood cannot be present in the Eucharist because
they are in heaven, as they have been ever since the Ascension. He holds
that the Eucharist is only a memorial. Zwingli maintains that believers are
transformed into Christ’s (mystical) body, but that the gifts on the altar
are not changed. God’s saving power is present at believers’ celebration of
the Last Supper, but God works directly in us. As a mere sign, the Eucha-
rist manifests or makes known God’s saving work.113 Zwingli ultimately
clashes with John 6 and the whole of the ancient doctrinal and liturgical
tradition.

John Calvin’s Eucharistic Theology

Calvin’s Eucharistic theology stands between that of Zwingli and Luther.
He rejects the notion that the Eucharist is a mere sign, but he also refuses

111. Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi, 51, 58; Jensen, “Luther and the Lord’s Supper,” 329.
112. Bernard Sesboüé, “La doctrine sacramentaire du concile de Trente II: L’Eucharistie et le
sacrifice de la Messe,” in Les signes du salut, ed. Henri Bourgeois, Bernard Sesboüé, and Paul Tihon,
Histoire des dogmes 3 (Paris: Desclée, 1995), 160.
113. Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi, 41–44.

206 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nc e o f Ch r i s t
Luther’s affirmation of Christ’s corporeal presence in the Eucharist. He
partly reacts to problematic late medieval Catholic Eucharistic theologies
(like that of William of Ockham) which seemed to underestimate the
metaphysical depth of the bread and wine accidents.114 He rightly insists
on keeping the Eucharist in the sacramental order of signs, but thinks that
this excludes the Catholic position.
Calvin fails to see how Christ’s glorified body can simultaneously be
in heaven and on many altars. The Geneva reformer’s motive was to up-
hold the reality of Christ’s humanity.115 He therefore rejects a presence of
Christ’s body and blood in the gifts on the altar, which is illustrated by his
firm opposition to any adoration of the gifts.116
However, Calvin intends to posit a real communion of believers with
Christ’s flesh and blood. Calvin thinks that when the believer partakes
of bread and wine in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper, he is joined
to Christ’s own body and blood. What does this mean? First, Christ’s
presence is spiritual, meaning it is founded on faith and nourishes faith.
Second, Calvin employs the image of believers being drawn into heaven
to commune in Jesus’ body and blood, so that his ­life-giving power may
flow into their hearts.117 However, they do not consume his body. Third,
the Holy Spirit constitutes the link between Christ and the faithful.118
There are striking similarities between Calvin’s description of the effect of
Eucharistic communion and Aquinas’s theology of how the other sacra-
ments impart grace and spiritual contact with Christ.
Calvin insists that the substance of bread and wine continue to be
present on the altar during the Eucharistic celebration and also during
communion. In his critique of Catholic doctrine, he responds to annihi-
lation theories. He also seems to conflate Catholic belief with Berengar’s
first confession. Calvin’s critique of transubstantiation seems to target
some Catholic theologies, but not that of Aquinas.119 Calvin’s teaching

114. Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi, 247–48.

115. Brian Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude: The Eucharistic Theology of John Calvin (Eugene,
Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2002), 176.
116. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Henry Beveridge (Peabody, Mass.:
2008), bk. 4, chap. 17, no. 35.
117. Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude, 174–79.
118. Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi, 160–62.
119. Ewerszumrode, Mysterium Christi, 167–68, 238, 249.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s e n ce o f Ch r is t 207
has been widely accepted in the Reformed and Anglican communities.120
As with Zwingli, Calvin’s Eucharistic theology clashes with John 6 and
the faith of the early Church.121

Trent on Transubstantiation and Christ’s

Substantial Presence in the Gifts
The Council of Trent set out to counter a number of Protestant claims
about the Eucharist. Its Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist (com-
pleted in 1555) includes chapters that give a positive teaching of the faith,
and canons that express the ecclesial doctrine that must be confessed. The
canons are formulated negatively, that is, they forbid certain teachings
that are either against the faith or erroneous, depending on the canon.122
According to the first canon, one cannot deny that in the Eucharist,
Christ’s body and blood, soul and divinity are “truly, really, and substan-
tially contained.”123 Chapter 2 of the decree shows this doctrine’s founda-
tion: Christ’s words at the Last Supper, the constant teaching of the saints,
and the constant faith of the Church.124 Chapter 3 distinguishes Christ’s
presence in his natural mode of existence in heaven from his sacramental
presence in the Eucharist. Properly speaking, Christ is in one place (in
heaven), yet he is substantially present in the Eucharistic host and cup at
each Mass.125 Chapter 3 discusses concomitance: Christ’s blood is also in
the host and his body is present in the cup. Trent appeals to the hypostat-
ic union to ground this teaching.126 Chapter 4 goes on to teach that the
substance of bread is converted into Christ’s body, and the substance of
wine into his blood. The Council calls this the constant teaching of the
Church.127 This excludes Luther’s consubstantiation. The second canon
states that the conversion of the substance is fittingly called transubstan-

120. Staedtke, “Abendmahl III/3: Reformationszeit,” 118.

121. For a more i­n-depth study of the s­ ixteenth-century Reformers’ theologies of Eucharistic
presence, see also Brett Salkeld, Transubstantiation: Theology, History and Christian Unity (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2019).
122. Hubert Jedin, Geschichte des Konzils von Trient, vol. 3 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder,
1970), 284–85.
123. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1651.
124. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1637.
125. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1636.
126. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1640; also canon 3.
127. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1642.

208 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nc e o f Ch r i st
tiation.128 The argument given is biblical: Christ identified the food in
his hands at the Last Supper as his body. He said: “This is my body,” not
“here is my body.” The second phrase would have opened the door for
the presence of another substance such as bread substance. Trent does not
take up Aquinas’s metaphysical argument against consubstantiation, part-
ly because there was disagreement about this among the Catholic theo-
logians. Canon 4 rejects the idea that Christ is present only during the
sacrament’s use or celebration, or the notion that he is no longer present
when the Eucharist is reserved in the tabernacle, which is against Luther.
Canon 8, in contradiction to Calvin, excludes the doctrine that Christ is
eaten only spiritually, not sacramentally and really.129
Let us now analyze some key elements of Trent’s Decree on the Sac-
rament of the Eucharist. There was no extensive debate on transubstan-
tiation and the Real Presence. There was a minor debate on the use of
the term “transubstantiation.” Some Council Fathers considered it too
new (it was only 450 years old!) and preferred to limit themselves to
patristic terms such as “conversion.” But even these critics thought that
the word “transubstantiation” expressed the constant Eucharistic faith of
the Church.130 The commission of bishops and theologians responsible
for the draft engaged in a brief discussion on the precise language of sub-
stance, accidents, and species.
The conciliar text is very careful in its language. It refers to “species,”
not “accidents.” It freely uses the term “substantially present,” and notes
that the change that occurs at the consecration is “fittingly and properly
called transubstantiation.” Trent seeks to prevent the canonization of a
specific school of theology. By not employing the term “accidents,” the
Council avoids giving the impression of canonizing Aristotelian philos-
ophy. The language of “substance” could be found in conciliar texts since
Lateran IV, and such terminology was used in the twelfth century by var-
ious theologians whose categories were not primarily Aristotelian.131 The

128. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1652.

129. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, DH 1654; 1658.
130. Jedin, Geschichte, 3:38–47, 270–76; C. Gutierrez, Trento: Un concilio para la unión (1550–
1552), vol. 3, Estudio, Corpus tridentinum hispanicum 4 (Madrid: Instituto Enrique Florez, 1981), 114.
131. Hans Jorissen, Der Beitrag Alberts des Großen zur theologischen Rezeption des Aristoteles
am Beispiel der Transsubstantiationslehre, Lectio Albertina 5 (Münster, Germany: Aschendorff,
2002), 2–4.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s e n ce o f Ch r is t 209
language of the conversion of the gifts is ancient—for example, it is found
in Ambrose. It is also a way to translate into Latin the Greek Fathers’
teaching, who use terms such as metabolē, as we saw above.132 The acts of
the council debates clearly state the intention to avoid medieval theologi-
cal disputes and to ground all doctrine in Scripture, tradition, the Fathers,
councils, popes, and the consensus of the Church.133 The language of spe-
cies is more directly related to the economy of signs than is the language of
accidents. The fact that half the drafting committee considered the terms
“accident” and “species” synonymous is irrelevant, because this may not
represent the majority of the bishops.134 Trent does not define its terms,
though its way of using “substance” or “species” gives us strong indications
of their meaning. Substance refers to the concrete being of Christ’s body,
while species refers to what appears to our senses (without being reduced
to appearances).135 Trent certainly takes “substance to mean a thing of a
definitive kind that exists independently.”136
The prudence and reticence of Trent on the theme of transubstanti-
ation has another motive: the Council needed to respond to Luther and
the Protestant theologians. Trent appeals to the consensus of the Fathers
and the medievals. The language of conversion has a broad enough sense
to include Church Fathers like Ambrose who never pondered precisely
how God converts the gifts on the altar.
Trent’s qualified way of employing the term “transubstantiation” sig-
nals that its main objective was not the imposition of a particular lan-
guage about the Eucharistic change, but a key conviction that such lan-
guage expresses, namely, that a radical, corporeal, and metaphysical change
takes place in the host and cup during the consecration. The language of
transubstantiation should be used insofar as it is the most adequate lin-
guistic means to communicate this conviction about the metaphysics of
the Eucharist. The Council specifically wants to say that Jesus really gives

132. Sesboüé, “La doctrine sacramentaire du concile de Trente II,” 160.

133. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 299.
134. Edward Yarnold, “Transubstantiation,” in The Eucharist in Theology and Philosophy: Issues
of Doctrinal History in East and West from the Patristic Age to the Reformation, ed. Istvan Perczel,
Réka Forrai, and György Geréby, Ancient and Medieval Philosophy, Series 1, vol. 35 (Leuven: Leu-
ven University Press, 2005), 387.
135. García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 297, 301.
136. Marshall, “The Eucharistic Presence of Christ,” 68.

210 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

his body and blood for adoration and consumption, and not just signs of
his body and blood. Its use of the terms “truly, really, substantially” clearly
excludes a merely figurative reading of Christ’s words at the Last Supper.
The same language shows that the conversion of the gifts ends (or “termi-
nates”) in the very substance of Christ’s body and blood.

Evaluating Recent Objections to

Eucharistic Substance
As noted at the start of this chapter, among Catholic theologians the
most influential alternatives to a scholastic, Tridentine vision of Eucha-
ristic presence have been motivated by developments in modern philos-
ophy and the natural sciences. The alternate theories especially invoke
­trans-signification (Schillebeeckx) or, in a more postmodern vein, employ
a phenomenological (or partly Heideggerian) vision of symbolic efficacy
(Chauvet).

Edward Schillebeeckx on ­Transignification

I have argued that transubstantiation remains intelligible, and that it is
best compared to other kinds of metaphysical changes and realities. The
past few decades have witnessed a theological tendency to strive for a
­post-metaphysical doctrine of Eucharistic presence, especially the notion
of ­transignification. While I shall focus on the theory of Edward Schille­
beeckx, I should note that ­twentieth-century transignification theories
include notable differences.
Schillebeeckx develops his theological proposal on the basis of his
reading of the Council of Trent. He interprets the dogma of transub-
stantiation as the inevitable result of a worldview shaped by Aristotle
and scholastic philosophy. That is, the Fathers of Trent could not help
but think of presence in terms of substance and accident.137 Schille-
beeckx seeks to adapt Eucharistic doctrine to the categories of modern
philosophy, especially phenomenology. He accepts the notion of transig-
nification, a change of meaning in the Eucharistic gifts, a new meaning
that is established by God, yet without reducing transubstantiation to

137. Schillebeeckx, The Eucharist, 53–59, 74–75.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 211
t­ rans-signification. In the liturgical setting, bread and wine obtain a new
signification. Here, Christ gives himself, so that the offerings on the altar
bring Christ’s ­self-gift to us. The sign of his presence changes us, and when
we respond to his gift, his presence is completely realized. We do not
make Christ present by our faith, for our response presupposes his pres-
ence, yet reciprocity (our welcoming his gift by faith) somehow heightens
his presence. Schillebeeckx insists that we leave Aristotelian substance
behind as inadequate. He concludes that some metaphysical change of
the gifts must be posited, yet he does not elaborate on the nature of this
change. His own positive explanation remains at the level of a change in
sign and meaning.138
Schillebeeckx’s proposal falls short primarily because of what it ex-
cludes. Phenomenological analysis on the meaning of liturgical signs
seems wholly compatible with a classical theology of Eucharistic pres-
ence. But Schillebeeckx’s historical reading of Trent risks placing all of
the councils and dogmatic statements of the popes into isolated intellec-
tual ghettos. That is, universal philosophical and theological truth claims
seem to become impossible. Consequently, notions such as “nature” or
“persons” are categorized as ­time-bound categories that express something
about the Trinity or Christ, but that can always potentially be replaced by
new categories. If no lasting definition of the meaning of presence (such
as “actuality,” “substance”) is possible, then how can we ever identify doc-
trinal continuity between older and newer theologies of Eucharistic pres-
ence? How can we confidently posit a shared doctrine of faith with our
spiritual ancestors? The Church has continually affirmed a Eucharistic re-
alism on the foundation of Christ’s words at the Last Supper, and to pro-
tect this realism, no better doctrine has been found than the affirmation
of a substantial presence of the body and blood.
Three other difficulties in Schillebeeckx’s stance should be noted.
First, Christ gives himself in every sacrament. What is unique about
the Eucharist is the gift of his own body and blood: here, his humanity
is present in a way that is different from his humanity’s presence in bap-
tism. Schillebeeckx does not seem to account for this difference. Second,
Kereszty rightly points out that the notion of a “completion” of Christ’s

138. Schillebeeckx, The Eucharist, 131–34, 141, 149–51.

212 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

Eucharistic presence by our faith response takes away from the primacy
of grace in the Eucharist: Christ simply makes his body and blood pres-
ent, even if our response is lacking.139 Third, while the Flemish theologian
posits a metaphysical presence of Christ that goes beyond a change of
meaning, he gives no explanation of what this ontology entails. He thus
fails to make the case that his approach is theologically and pastorally
more fruitful than the Tridentine teaching. Indeed, the regions of Europe
where Schillebeeckx’s thought was most influential have seen a sharp de-
cline in Eucharistic faith.

­ ouis-Marie Chauvet’s ­Post-metaphysical

L
Theology of Eucharistic Presence
Phenomenology also strongly influenced Chauvet’s notion of Eucharistic
presence, as did Heidegger’s critique of classical metaphysics. The French
theologian’s starting point is Trent’s description of transubstantiation as
being “most aptly” suited to describe the change of the gifts. On this basis,
he seeks to completely redefine Eucharistic presence.140 Chauvet especial-
ly worries that Aquinas’s insistence on the complete presence of Christ’s
being via the consecration (and so before communion) expels the Church
from the Eucharistic mystery. Instead, Christ comes into the gifts not from
heaven, but from the assembly, for his is a presence “for us.” The Eucharis-
tic bread and wine only have being as a ­being-for-us, to be offered, poured
out, eaten and shared.141 The symbolism of bread demands this. The Eu-
charist is also Christ’s communication of himself. O ­ nto-theologians such
as Aquinas mistakenly seek to define some being underneath the signs, but
we should always remain focused on the mediations, on language. The Eu-
charist is the most essential bread, it is what nourishes. The central Eucha-
ristic sign is the breaking of the bread, for it best manifests Christ’s gift of
his life and the Eucharist as communion. Chauvet deliberately limits all
of his reflections to the level of the sign and, more specifically, to the con-
ventional sign, that is, the sign not in relation to the reality signified but

139. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 220.

140. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 383. For an overview, see Conor Sweeney, Sacramen-
tal Presence after Heidegger: O
­ nto-theology, Sacraments and the Moral Life (Eugene, Ore.: Cascade
Books, 2015), chap. 2.
141. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 387–91.

Th e Su bs ta ntia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 213
simply in its capacity to bring meaning to those who perceive it. Finally, he
explicitly grounds his notion of presence on Heidegger’s philosophy, for
whom presence and absence are simultaneous.142
Chauvet’s meditation on bread and wine seems open to appropriation
for a scholastic theology of Eucharistic signs. Chauvet’s primary weakness
appears to be his insistence on replacing metaphysical theology with a
purely s­ ymbol-driven approach. His proposal falls short for several rea-
sons. First, there is no clear theology of creation in his work. That is, he
tells us that creation is a gift, but he has no account of what God does
in creating.143 Nor is it clear how phenomenology can provide an answer
here: Heidegger certainly cannot, given his refusal to say anything about
God in philosophy. Chauvet seems to have no theology of divine action,
and thus, he cannot give any account of how God changes the gifts (be-
yond the realm of symbol). Second, Chauvet explicitly rejects scholastic
theologies of Eucharistic presence, but, in fact, he also implicitly refuses
any patristic account of the change of the being of the Eucharistic gifts.
Chauvet’s acceptance of Heidegger’s critique of classical metaphysics en-
tails a refusal of patristic sacramental theologies. Third, as a consequence,
Chauvet has no evident account for why we should adore the gifts on the
altar, as he has no explanation of how these gifts change, except at the level
of symbol. Fourth, again as a consequence, the analogy of the Incarnation
dear to the Fathers and their theologies of the epiclesis no longer makes
sense. For Chauvet gives no account of how the very flesh and blood of
Christ have come into our midst. His focus is on what the signs of bread
and wine mean for us. Thus, Chauvet conflicts with the perennial lex
orandi. Fifth, for Chauvet, the gesture of breaking bread takes theological
priority over other elements of the Last Supper, including the words of
institution. Perhaps this is because he cannot integrate a literal reading of
those words into his theology. His appeal to Christ’s ­self-communication
in the Eucharist is welcome, yet it remains without elucidation. Overall,
he essentially unfolds a theory of the sacramentum tantum.144 But this can-
not suffice.

142. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 398–407.

143. Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament, 548–51.
144. For a brilliant critique of Chauvet’s reductive reading of John 6, see Emmanuel Perrier,

214 Th e S u bs ta ntia l P r e s e nce of Ch r i s t

Paul VI’s Mysterium Fidei and Its Consequences
for Catholic Theology
I conclude this chapter by arguing that, with the help of Pope Paul VI, we
can grant that neither Schillebeeckx nor Chauvet provide us with ade-
quate substitutes for transubstantiation and the theology of Christ’s sub-
stantial, corporeal presence. Their proposals can serve a complementary
role via the positive contributions that they offer.
In the year that Vatican II reached completion, Paul VI issued an ur-
gent message in his encyclical Mysterium Fidei. The Council had in fact
built on Trent’s teaching concerning Christ’s substantial presence, though
its focus lay elsewhere. Paul VI found that some Catholic theologians
were ignoring Trent altogether. The pope firmly refused the reduction
or radical reinterpretation of transubstantiation to ­trans-signification or
­trans-finalization (a change of purpose). Rather, it was crucial to affirm
also the extraordinary change of the whole substance of bread and wine
into the body and blood.145 Christ’s presence is corporeal, not just spir-
itual, which requires a supernatural change in the gifts.146 The constant
practice of worshipping the consecrated gifts confirms this teaching.147
Thus, ­trans-signification could complement transubstantiation, but could
not do more. We can say the same of Chauvet’s theology, applying the
principles set forth by Paul VI.
Inspired by Pius XII, Paul VI maintains that the Church’s appeal to
substance in her Eucharistic teaching is not simply the appropriation of a
­time-bound concept. Nor is it simply the adoption of Aristotelian meta-
physics.
These formulas—like the others that the Church used to propose the dogmas
of faith—express concepts that are not tied to a certain specific form of human
culture, or to a certain level of scientific progress, or to one or another theologi-
cal school. Instead they set forth what the human mind grasps of reality through

“Le Pain de Vie chez L ­ ouis-Marie Chauvet et saint Thomas d’Aquin: Représentation de l’incon-
naissable ou terme de l’union spirituelle?” Revue Thomiste 113 (2013): 195–234.
145. Paul VI, Mysterium Fidei, Encyclical Letter, September 3, 1965, no. 11.
146. Paul VI, Mysterium Fidei, no. 46.
147. Paul VI, Mysterium Fidei, nos. 55–56.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s en ce o f Ch r is t 215
necessary and universal experience and what it expresses in apt and exact words,
whether it be in ordinary or more refined language.148

Like Pius XII in his encyclical Humani Generis, and like the later encyc-
lical Fides et Ratio by John Paul II, Paul VI holds that ecclesial dogmatic
definitions that employ metaphysical categories (such as “consubstantial
with the Father”) can be intelligible to the common person. The various
theological schools can strive to give those categories greater technical
precision, which can further illumine the mystery and help to prevent
theological error.149
A commonsense notion of substance is present in our general percep-
tion of other human beings as centers of abiding identity. For example,
the human being remains the same substance from his mother’s womb
until death, despite the radical physical changes that occur. Or again, a
change of substance in the Eucharist will have some similarities with
someone’s being generated, so that a being is now present among us that
was not with us before. These examples can help us to grasp Paul VI’s doc-
trinal intention.
However, one should also note that a general classical and medieval
consensus in both philosophy and culture on the nature of substance has
been lost, which requires great care in appealing to commonsense notions
of substance today. For example, a Cartesian theory of substance as an
extended thing in space conflicts with transubstantiation. Contempo-
rary philosophical ideas of substance (especially in analytic philosophy)
are widely diverse and often incompatible with transubstantiation. Thus,
appeals to the “really real” aspect of the Eucharist cannot suffice to com-
municate this teaching, since the sense of “real” remains too vague. Also,
the accidents of bread and wine are real. Nor is it enough to speak of sub-
stance as a substrate, in distinction from its properties (for substance also
has properties, based on its nature). Rather, we should also speak of some-
thing that exists on its own, has a stable identity, stable features (e.g., the
rationality of a human substance) and an intrinsic unity (the person is a

148. Paul VI, Mysterium Fidei, no. 24. For the Latin, see Acta Apostolicae Sedis 57 (1965), 758.
149. See Guy Mansini, “The Historicity of Dogma and Common Sense: Ambroise Gardeil,
Reginald ­Garrigou-Lagrange, Yves Congar, and the Modern Magisterium,” Nova et Vetera (English
Edition) 18 (2020): 111–38. See also my essay “Implicit Philosophy and Hermeneutics: Metaphysics
and the Historicity of Thought in Light of Fides et Ratio,” Angelicum 95 (2018): 201–18.

216 Th e S u bs tantia l P r e s e nce of Ch r is t

single substance).150 The theological and catechetical challenge of mak-
ing metaphysically formulated dogma accessible to the faithful confronts
us not just in Eucharistic doctrine, but in Trinitarian and Christological
teaching, as well as in anthropology and ethics.
150. Here, I draw inspiration from Joshua P. Hochschild, “Substance Made Manifest: Meta-
physical and Semantic Implications of the Doctrine of Transubstantiation,” paper presented at the
Metaphysics Colloquium of the Institute for Saint Anselm Studies, Saint Anselm College, Man-
chester, N.H., June 5–6, 2013; available online at https://philarchive.org/archive/­HOCSMM-2.

Th e Su bs tantia l P r e s ence o f Ch r is t 217

Th e C on s e cr ation
Th e C on s e cr ation
Ch a p t e r 7

}
THE CONSECRATION,
THE EPICLESIS,
AND THE WORDS
OF INSTITUTION

Now that we have studied the mode of Christ’s presence in the gifts, we
can ponder how (liturgically) he comes to be present in the gifts. Accord-
ing to the typical eastern Orthodox position in our day, the epiclesis is the
efficacious means to change the gifts on the altar, precisely when it fol-
lows the words of institution. In the west, the Council of Florence and a
longstanding theological consensus hold that the change of the gifts hap-
pens with the words of the institution. Today, theologians such as Her-
bert Vorgrimler see the whole Eucharistic prayer as consecratory, a stance
that seems to find support in the Fathers.1 Meanwhile, Cesare Giraudo
appeals to both the words of institution and the epiclesis as consecrato-
1. Herbert Vorgrimler, Sacramental Theology, trans. Linda M. Maloney (Collegeville, Minn.:
The Liturgical Press, 1992), 150.

218
ry, without fixing a precise moment in which the gifts change. Giraudo
speaks of a ­non-physical, sacramental time inscribed within the liturgy.2
The present chapter begins with a historical survey. With the Fathers,
the liturgy, and magisterial teaching as foundation, I take up a series of
systematic questions. First, which part of the Eucharistic prayer brings
about the change of the gifts, and why? Second, what is the spiritual
power of prayers such as the epiclesis, and what do they manifest about
God’s saving work in the liturgy? That is, if the epiclesis is not consecra-
tory, does it bring another spiritual fruit? Third, are the positions of east
and west necessarily contradictory? Fourth, must we speak of a specific
moment in which the gifts change, or should we leave this question un-
answered? These questions are hardly secondary. When can we begin to
adore or worship the gifts on the altar? Also, the centrality of the epiclesis
for much of the east brings with it a difference in emphasis in ecclesiology
and the theology of the priesthood, as does the western emphasis on the
words of institution. This theme also deserves reflection.
In chapter 3, the study the history of the liturgy showed the wide-
spread and perhaps universal use of the institution narrative in the an-
cient liturgies. However, the simple presence of that narrative in the var-
ious anaphora does not automatically indicate that it bears an essential
(or exclusive) consecratory function. The present chapter ponders the
Fathers and the ancient liturgies from a different angle, one that strives to
uncover what (if any) consecratory function was attributed to the words
of institution, the epiclesis, or the anaphora as a whole. As I proceed, I
will employ the term “consecration” to refer to the prayer that in fact is
the means whereby Christ’s body and blood come unto the altar.

A Historical Study of the Consecration of the Gifts

The Consecration in the Ancient Church
As we consider the witness of the Fathers, we should recall that they of-
ten were not concerned with the question of which precise prayer was es-
sential for the consecration. Also, the exact moment of consecration was

2. Cesare Giraudo, In unum corpus: Traité mystagogique sur l’eucharistie, trans. Éric Iborra and
­Pierre-Marie Hombert (Paris: Cerf, 2014), 545, 557–65.

Th e C o n secr at i o n 219
usually not a question that they posed. Such silence does not indicate a
denial, yet it should be taken into account.
In ­pre-Nicene liturgical practice, we find the Greek terms epikalein,
epikaleisthai and epiklēsis, which mean “to name” and “to apply the name”
or “to call upon in prayer.” One calls upon God, the divine Logos, or the
Holy Spirit to sanctify or change the bread.3 The earliest epiclesis calls
upon the Logos. Beginning in the third century, and especially starting in
the m­ id-fourth century, we find a Spirit epiclesis, a prayer calling upon the
Spirit to accomplish a saving act. The primitive Eucharistic prayers gen-
erally have one or two epicleses. The first epiclesis of the Roman canon,
which begins with the words “Bless and approve this offering” addresses
God the Father. This text is already mentioned by Ambrose in the fourth
century, and it may go back to the third century.4 An epiclesis can pre-
cede or follow the words of institution. The second and third Eucharistic
prayers of the new Roman rite have epicleses both before and after the
words of institution. Numerous ancient eastern Eucharistic prayers have
an epiclesis after those words. In sum, an epiclesis asks the Father, the Lo-
gos, or the Spirit to bless the gifts, to change them, to make the gifts fruit-
ful in the Church, to make the sacrifice acceptable, and so on.
The Fathers clearly saw the Eucharistic prayer as fruitful. Earlier, we
encountered a Logos epiclesis in Justin Martyr, a prayer that likely refers
to the institution narrative. For Irenaeus, the words pronounced over the
Eucharistic gifts are efficacious, but only because the Word himself has
power over creation. Irenaeus thus signals the divinity of the Logos who
is invoked over the gifts.5 Irenaeus too has a Logos epiclesis. He might
suggest that the whole Eucharistic prayer is consecratory.6 Origen re-
fers to the Eucharistic bread as that “over which the Name of God and

3. Michael Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” in Is-

sues in Eucharistic Praying, ed. Maxwell Johnson (Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 2010),
263–64.
4. Louis Bouyer, Eucharist: Theology and Spirituality of the Eucharistic Prayer, trans. Charles
Underhill Quinn (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), 237–38, 243.
5. Irenaeus of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 4, chap. 18, no. 5; Antonio Orbe, Teología de
San Ireneo IV: Traducción y comentario del libro IV del “Adversus haereses” (Madrid: Biblioteca de
Autores Cristianos, 1986), 254.
6. Irenaeus of Lyon, Treatise Against Heresies bk. 1, chap. 13, no. 2; Edward Schillebeeckx, L’éco-
nomie sacramentelle du salut, trans. Yvon van der Have, Studia Friburgensia 95 (Fribourg, Switzer-
land: Academic Press, 2004), 277.

220 Th e Con s e c r ation

of Christ and of the Holy Spirit has been invoked.”7 Origen evokes a
fully Trinitarian epiclesis. In the background stands the biblical notion
that naming something has a unique spiritual efficacy, namely, that the
Lord, being invoked, takes possession of something and sanctifies it. Also,
in Scripture, to name God is to reveal or manifest him.8 Athanasius has
a striking passage in a homily to the newly baptized, in which he exclaims
that the Logos descends onto the bread and cup via long and miraculous
prayers. He sometimes employs the terms Logos (Word) and Pneuma
(Spirit) interchangeably.9 Athanasius may be designating the entire Eu-
charistic prayer as an epiclesis, for he speaks of long prayers as consecra-
tory. Gregory the Great describes the “sacrificial prayer” (or the Roman
canon) as consecratory.10 Neither these nor other Fathers explicitly teach
that the entire Eucharistic prayer and only the whole prayer consecrates.
Nor do they deny that the gifts are changed at a precise moment during
that prayer. But they transmit to us a deep sense of mystery and reverence
for the whole Eucharistic prayer. It is full of spiritual power, as it brings us
heavenly gifts and lifts our souls up to God by evoking his saving deeds.
The Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus (a ­third-century liturgical text)
has perhaps the earliest liturgical reference to the Spirit. After the words
of institution, the celebrant asks God to send the Spirit upon the offering,
so that those who partake of it might be filled with the Spirit, be gathered
in unity and strengthened in faith.11 Hippolytus does not say if the Spir-
it does anything to the gifts themselves: his focus is on the recipients.12
Also, it is not clear whether Hippolytus posited a clear distinction be-
tween the Logos and the Spirit.
The Apostolic Constitutions reflects the western Syrian liturgy in the

7. Origen, commenting on 1 Corinthians 7:5, cited by Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic

Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 264. For the Greek text, see Claude Jenkins, “Origen on 1
Corinthians, part 3,” Journal of Theological Studies 9 (1908): 502.
8. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 266–67.
9. Athanasius, Fragmenta VII (PG 26:1325CD), cited by Johannes Betz, Eucharistie in der Schrift
und Patristik, Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte 4.4a (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1979), 89.
10. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 277–78.
11. See the edition of the Apostolic Tradition in Prex Eucharistica: Textus e variis liturgiis an-
tiquioribus selecti, ed. Anton Hänggi and Irmgard Pahl, Spicilegium Friburgense 12 (Fribourg, Swit-
zerland: Éditions universitaires Fribourg, 1968), 81.
12. John H. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis: A Detailed History from the Patristic Era to the
Modern Era, 2nd ed. (Chicago, Illinois: Hildenbrand Books, 2009), 8–9

Th e C o n secr at i o n 221
middle or end of the fourth century and has affinities with the Liturgy
of St. Mark. Without a preceding epiclesis, the presiding bishop recalls
Christ’s suffering and then proceeds to the institution narrative.13 Then,
the celebrant asks God (the Father) to send the Holy Spirit upon the sac-
rifice, so that he may “show” or “declare” (apophainō) the bread to be the
body and the cup to be the blood.14 The meaning of “showing” remains
in dispute. In ancient profane use, it meant “to operate, to effect or to
cause.”15
Eucharistic epicleses that mention the Holy Spirit mostly developed
in the east during the fourth century, especially in the context of the rag-
ing doctrinal disputes surrounding the Holy Spirit’s divinity. The attribu-
tion to the Spirit of some type of change in the Eucharistic gifts (and the
faithful through the gifts) reinforced belief in the Spirit’s distinct identity
and his divinity.16
Cyril of Jerusalem mentions a prayer to the Holy Spirit, an epiclesis
that asks that the gifts be changed. The priest calls upon God (the Fa-
ther) to send the Holy Spirit upon the gifts, that he may make ( poiēsē)
the bread the body of Christ and the wine the blood of Christ. He adds
that whatever the Spirit has touched has been sanctified and converted
(metabeblēsai).17 He may also be using the term “epiclesis” in reference to
the whole Eucharistic prayer.18
A key ­fourth-century witness is the Liturgy of St. Basil. After the
words of institution, the priest asks the Spirit to bless and sanctify the
gifts on the altar, and to show or present (anadeixai) to us in the bread
the body of Christ. The last verb (“to show”) does not have the sense of

13. See the edition of the Apostolic Constitutions in Hänggi and Pahl, Prex Eucharistica, 90–93;
Edward J. Yarnold, “The Liturgy of the Faithful in the Fourth and Early Fifth Centuries,” in The
Study of the Liturgy, rev. ed., ed. Cheslyn Jones, Geoffrey Wainwright, Edward Yarnold, and Paul
Bradshaw (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 234–36.
14. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 12–13.
15. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 257.
16. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint (Paris: Cerf, 2002), vol. 3, 300–301.
17. Cyril of Jerusalem, “Mystagogical Lecture 5,” no. 7. There are historical and theological ar-
guments that Cyril’s liturgy included the institution narrative. That is, we lack a firm basis to main-
tain that Cyril attributes the change of gifts to a Spirit epiclesis without an institution narrative.
See Edward J. Yarnold, “Anaphoras without Institution Narratives?,” Studia Patristica 30 (1997):
401–6.
18. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 276.

222 Th e C o n s e c r ation
making or changing the gifts, but of making something known.19 A later
edition of this liturgical text includes an attribution of the change of gifts
to the Spirit, but the earlier editions do not.20 The same epiclesis asks
that those who partake in the gifts may be united with one another, and
also that they might find mercy and not condemnation.21 The earliest
Liturgy of St. Basil therefore links the epiclesis with the transformation of
those who receive the gifts, while a later version also connects the epiclesis
with the change of the gifts.
The epiclesis in the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom calls upon God
to send the Holy Spirit onto the gifts, to make (poiēson) the bread Christ’s
body and to convert (metabalōn) the content of the cup into Christ’s
blood. The epiclesis also mentions the purpose of this change, namely,
the unity of the faithful with one another and their communion with the
Spirit.22 The institution narrative precedes this epiclesis. The change of
the gifts is attributed to the Spirit. Note the close link between the change
of the gifts and the transformation of the recipients.
Interestingly, Chrysostom’s own teaching on the consecration is
somewhat ambiguous. In a sermon on the treason of Judas, he explains:
“The priest is the representative when he pronounces those words, but
the power and the grace are those of the Lord. ‘This is My Body,’ he says.
This word changes the things that lie before us.”23 The text posits a link
between the institution narrative and the change of the gifts. John also at-
tributes the efficacy of the words to Christ, not to the priest, though this
need not exclude the priest’s instrumental action. Since God’s power acts
in or through these words, Christ’s body becomes present. But in another
work, Chrysostom explains that the priest calls upon the Spirit to come
and touch the gifts:
the priest stands before the altar, raising his hands to heaven, calling the Holy
Spirit to come and touch the [gifts] set forth. . . . And when the Spirit gives the

19. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 267–69;

Hänggi and Pahl, Prex Eucharistica, 236.
20. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:302.
21. Hänggi and Pahl, Prex Eucharistica, 236–39.
22. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 270.
23. John Chrysostom, De Proditione Judae, Homilies 1–2 (PG 49:380). The English transla-
tion is from McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 54.

Th e C o n s ecr at i o n 223
grace, when He descends, when He touches the gifts which are set forth . . . then
you see the Lamb, already slain.24

Here, the Spirit working at the moment of the epiclesis seems to make the
Lamb present in the gifts on the altar. John’s overall teaching thus remains
unclear.25 However, inspired by Nicholas Cabasilas, some theologians
read Chrysostom as holding the following position: Christ’s words retain
their power once and for all, but need to be applied to the gifts at the Eu-
charistic celebration via the epiclesis.26
Gregory of Nyssa has a complex, ambiguous teaching on the power of
the epiclesis. He states: “the bread, as says the apostle, ‘is sanctified by the
Word of God and prayer’ . . . it is at once changed into the Body by means
of the Word, as the Word itself said, ‘This is my Body.’”27 He holds that
the change of the gifts happens in an instant. Gregory seems to identify
“the Word” that changes the gifts with the institution narrative. But else-
where, he explains:
bread . . . is at first common bread, but when the sacramental action consecrates
it, it is called, and becomes, the Body of Christ. So with the sacramental oil; so
with the wine: though before the benediction they are of little value, each of
them, after the sanctification bestowed by the Spirit, has its several operation.28

The gifts’ sanctification by the Spirit could refer to the epiclesis. Here too,
we seem to be dealing with a single moment in time, with an instanta-
neous change. But even if Gregory refers to the epiclesis, we are left with
an unresolved tension between two of his texts on the function of the in-
stitution narrative and epiclesis within the Eucharistic liturgy.29
Ambrose refers to the change of the Eucharistic gifts in three different
works. Ambrose’s most important text on the consecration comes from

24. John Chrysostom, De coemet. et de cruc. 3 (PG 49:398). The English translation is by Zhel-
tov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 283.
25. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 283.
26. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 56.
27. Gregory of Nyssa, “Catechetical Oration 37,” nos. 105–7, cited by Zheltov, “The Moment
of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 282. For the Greek text, see James Herbert
Srawley, The Catechetical Oration of Gregory of Nyssa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1903), 149–51.
28. Gregory of Nyssa, “Oration on the Baptism of Christ,” cited by Zheltov, “The Moment of
Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 282.
29. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 282.

224 Th e C on s e c r ation
book 4 of his On the Sacraments. This work also provides the most ancient
witness to the Roman canon.30 Ambrose mentions no Spirit epiclesis, ei-
ther before or after the words of institution. His teaching on the conse-
cration is valuable. First, Ambrose refers to a precise moment of consecra-
tion: “that bread is bread before the words of the sacraments.”31 He also
specifies: “there was no body of Christ before the consecration.”32 The
words of consecration are those of Jesus. This is so because of the doctrine
of the creative Word of God.33 Ambrose distinguishes between the praise
of God in the liturgical prayer and the expression of Christ himself that
the priest uses: the latter has a unique power.34 Ambrose then explains
which words are those of Christ. Ambrose recites an account of the Last
Supper, with the words of institution at the heart of the narrative. He also
carefully distinguishes between the evangelist’s own words and the words
of Jesus. Ambrose explains that before the phrase, “take and drink,” the
evangelist speaks his words. But then, we have Christ’s words: “Take and
drink of this, all of you; for this is my blood”35 Before these words, the
chalice contains wine and water, “but when Christ’s words have been add-
ed, then blood is effected.”36 The same distinction holds for the blessing
of the bread. First comes the evangelist’s introduction of the setting: “On
the day before he suffered.” Ambrose continues: “Before it is consecrated,
it is bread; but when Christ’s words have been added, it is the body of
Christ.”37
The canon mentioned by Ambrose in the same context supports an
interpretation that locates the change of the gifts at the words of institu-
tion.38 As the historian of theology P ­ ierre-Marie Gy points out, just be-
fore the institution narrative, the canon asks God to accept the Church’s
gifts and sacrifices (plural), while after the institution narrative, the canon

30. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 265.

31. Ambrose, The Sacraments, in Theological and Dogmatic Works, trans. Roy Deferrari, The
Fathers of the Church 44 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1963),
bk. 4, chap. 4, no. 14.
32. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 4, no. 16.
33. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 4, no. 15.
34. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 4, no. 14.
35. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 5, no. 22.
36. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 5, no. 23.
37. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 5, no. 23.
38. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 5, no. 21; chapter 6, no. 27.

Th e C o n secr at i o n 225
employs the singular: “an immaculate victim, a spiritual [rationabilem]
victim, an ­un-bloody victim” (this is still in our Roman canon). The shift
thus focuses to a single offering, that of Christ’s body and blood. Also, in
Ambrose’s canon, before the words of institution, the priest asks God to
make the offering “spiritual” (rationabilis), but after the words of institu-
tion, the gift is simply called “spiritual.” The progression of the anaphora
supports a close link between the change of the gifts and the words of
institution.39
The ancient Roman canon that we know has two epicleses, neither
of which mentions the Spirit, though a later evolution of the canon does
ask the Spirit to come upon the gifts.40 Before the words of institution,
the canon asks God (the Father) to be pleased with the offering, to bless,
approve, and perfect it, so that it may become Christ’s body and blood.
Here, the epiclesis looks forward to the conversion of the gifts. Later
comes another epiclesis, in which God is asked to send his angel to carry
the gifts to the heavenly altar, so that those who receive the gifts may be
filled with grace and blessing.41 Here, the epiclesis focuses on the fruit-
fulness of the gifts, not the change of the gifts themselves.
Among the Syrian theologians of antiquity, many held that the gifts
are converted through the words of institution. Thus, Severus of Antioch
(early sixth century) writes:
The priest . . . pronounces his words as in the person of Christ . . . “This is my Body
which is given for you: do this in remembrance of me;” while over the cup again
he pronounces the words, “This cup is the New Covenant in my Blood, which is
shed for you.” Accordingly, it is Christ who still even now offers, and the power
of His divine words perfects the things that are provided so that they may be-
come His Body and Blood.42

39. P­ ierre-Marie Gy, “Doctrine eucharistique de la liturgie romaine dans le haut moyen âge,”
in La liturgie dans l’histoire (Paris: Cerf, 1990), 197. Gy’s insight is one reason that I doubt the his-
torical reinterpretation of Ambrose’s theology of the consecration set forth by Christiaan Kappes,
The Epiclesis Debate at the Council of Florence (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press,
2019), 78–92.
40. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 387–89.
41. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 34.
42. Severus of Antioch, “Letter 3,” no. 3. The English translation is from Ernest Walter Brooks,
The Sixth Book of the Select Letters of Severus, Patriarch of Antioch, in the Syria Version of Athanasius
of Nisibis, vol. 2 (London: Williams & Norgate, 1904), 238.

226 Th e C o n s e cr ation
Other writings by Severus confirm this teaching, yet he also states that
the change of the gifts comes about by the power of the Holy Spirit. He
sees no contradiction here, but his focus remains on the words of institu-
tion. Also, Syrian theologians such as James of Edessa (eighth century)
and John of Dara (ninth century) hold the same position. In short, attrib-
uting the change of the gifts to the institution narrative is hardly an exclu-
sively Latin position.43 However, Theodore of Mopsuestia attributes the
conversion of the gifts to the epiclesis.44
The eastern Orthodox often cite John Damascene, and suppose him
to teach that the change of the gifts comes about precisely with and at the
epiclesis. John’s texts are hard to interpret. In one key passage, he writes:
if by his will God the Word Himself became man and without seed caused the
pure and undefiled blood of the blessed ­Ever-Virgin to form a body for Himself;
if all this, then can He not make the bread His body and the wine and water His
blood? In the beginning He said: “Let the earth bring forth the green herb,” and
even until now, when the rain falls, the earth brings forth its own shoots under
the influence and power of the divine command. God said, “This is My body,”
and, “This is My blood,” and “This do in commemoration of me,” and by His
almighty command it is done, until He shall come: for what He said was “until
He come.” And through the invocation [epiclēseos] the overshadowing power of
the Holy Ghost becomes a rainfall for this new cultivation. . . . And now you ask
how the bread becomes the body of Christ and the wine and water the blood of
Christ. And I tell you that the Holy Ghost comes down and works these things
which are beyond description and understanding.45

It is not clear what Damascene means by the term epiclesis. Later authors
such as Nicholas Cabasilas will read it in a limited, technical sense. But
Damascene may simply be referring to an invocation of God’s name or
even the Eucharistic prayer as a whole.46
Zheltov indicates that Damascene becomes even harder to interpret

43. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 284–85.

44. Theodore of Mopsuestia, “Homily 15,” no. 10, in Katechetische Homilien, vol. 1, trans. Peter
Bruns, Fontes Christiani 17.1 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1994).
45. John Damascene, On the Orthodox Faith, bk. 4, chap. 13, trans. Frederic H. Chase, The
Fathers of the Church 37 (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1958), 356–57. For the Greek text, see
Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, ed. Bonifatius Kotter, Patristische Texte und Studien 12
(Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1972), 193–94.
46. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 285–86.

Th e C o n secr at i o n 227
when he turns to the question of how to use the term “antitype.” This was
a standard early patristic term for the Eucharist. In the face of the Nesto-
rian and Iconoclast controversies, the s­eventh-century author Anasta-
sius Sinaita rejected its use for the changed gifts on the altar, for fear of
separating the gifts on the altar from the presence of Christ, much as the
Iconoclasts separated the holy images from the Person of Christ. Dama-
scene was faced with the problem of how to reconcile the use of the term
“antitype” in the Liturgy of St. Basil with Anastasius’s teaching. He chose
the following solution: he restricted its legitimate liturgical use to the mo-
ment before the change of the gifts. Now everyone knew that the Liturgy
of St. Basil uses the word “antitype” after the institution narrative. But
Damascene’s readers had apparently forgotten that the liturgy of Basil
comes from an ecclesial culture were the term “antitype” can apply to the
changed gifts. Damascene’s explanation of the liturgy of Basil is problem-
atic, for it now seems that the term “antitype” refers to unchanged gifts
on the altar, precisely after the words of institution.47 Damascene tries to
squeeze Anastasius and the liturgy of Basil into a theology in which “an-
titype” means the same thing, when in fact it does not. Thus, Damascene
left us with a confusing text that was often misread as having taught that
the words of institution have no direct relation to the conversion of the
gifts on the altar.
The ancient liturgical and patristic witnesses on the epiclesis manifest
the following patterns. First, starting in the fourth century, most epicleses
call upon the Spirit. Second, some epicleses after the institution narrative
ask for a change of the gifts. Third, many epicleses that follow the words
of institution ask for the sanctification of the gifts or of the faithful.
Fourth, there is no clear, consistent patristic testimony about the precise
moment of consecration. On the one hand, Ambrose and a few Syrian
theologians link this moment with the words of institution. On the other
hand, many Fathers remain ambiguous: they might relate the change of
the gifts to the institution narrative and the epiclesis, or perhaps to the
whole Eucharistic prayer, without giving precision. Overall, the exact mo-
ment of the conversion was not an issue, even though some Fathers hold
for an instantaneous change.

47. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 285–89.

228 Th e C on s e c r ation
Medieval Byzantine Doctrines of the Epiclesis
The first Greek author who clearly identified the moment of the conver-
sion of the gifts was Nicephorus, patriarch of Constantinople (d. 828).
He states that this change happens at the epiclesis. Nicephorus strives to
follow John Damascene.48
This brings us to the influential f­ ourteenth-century Greek theologian
Nicholas Cabasilas. In his Commentary on the Divine Liturgy, he explains
what happens before the epiclesis:
The priest recites the story of that august Last Supper . . . repeating those words
[of Christ], the celebrant prostrates himself and prays, while applying to the of-
ferings these words of the ­Only-Begotten, our Savior, that they may, after having
received his most Holy and ­all-powerful Spirit, be transformed (metablēthēnai)—
the bread into His holy Body, the wine into his precious and sacred Blood.49

For Cabasilas, the gifts cannot be transformed without the institution

narrative and the epiclesis together. The epiclesis applies to the gifts that
are on the altar today the power of the words of institution that Jesus
himself recited two thousand years ago.50 Now Cabasilas was also an ec-
umenist who wanted to show that the Latin and Greek liturgies agree on
this point. He identifies a prayer in the Roman canon as the consecra-
tory epiclesis, which begins with the words “Humbly, we beseech you O
Lord,” in Latin, Supplices te rogamus. This phrase follows the institution
narrative. Here, the Latin priest asks God to send his angel to take the sac-
rifice from the altar on earth to the altar in heaven. This heavenly trans-
port transforms the gifts.
Cabasilas’s theology was adopted widely in the Christian east, yet not
by all. For example, George Scholarios, a fi ­ fteenth-century patriarch of
Constantinople, held the Latin position. We find that the east is not ho-
mogenous. Since the seventeenth century, it is eastern Orthodox doctrine
that the epiclesis (after the words of institution) effects the transforma-
tion of the gifts, but that the institution narrative should also be recited.51
48. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 272–73.
49. Nicholas Cabasilas, Commentary on the Divine Liturgy, trans. J. M. Hussey and P. A.
McNulty, 5th ed. (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2002), 69–70; Zheltov, “The
Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 276.
50. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:304.
51. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 276–81;

Th e C o n secr at i o n 229
The Roman Magisterium on the Consecration
In the middle of the fifteenth century, the Council of Florence was con-
vened to seek the reunion of east and west. The pope and western theo-
logians sought to define for both east and west that the words of insti-
tution change bread and wine into Christ’s body and blood. The eastern
representatives objected that such a declaration would make union more
difficult. On one side, the Greek bishops were not prepared for the de-
bate. On the other side, the western bishops and theologians presented
arguments drawn from the Fathers and the western liturgies, but failed
to ponder the structures of the eastern anaphora on their own terms (in-
cluding those in the liturgies of St. John Chrysostom and St. Basil).52 We
can see that Florence was in no position to offer a dogmatic teaching that
applies to the Byzantine rites.53
Nevertheless, the consecration did become an object of conciliar defi-
nition, and we will see shortly for whom it was intended. In its Decree for
the Armenians, Florence declared that the form of the Eucharist consists
of the words of institution.54 The text draws extensively from Aquinas’s
teaching.55 The same decree refused any condemnation of the Greeks. In
the Decree for the Jacobites (Cantate Domino, addressed to the Ethiopi-
ans and the Copts), Florence cites the words of consecration for the host
(“For this is my body”) and the chalice (all the way up to the phrase “for
the forgiveness of sins”).56 The Council adds that one should not doubt
that after the priest has completed these words, the gifts on the altar have
become Christ’s body and blood.

McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 85–87. The key text is the Greek version of Peter Moghila’s The
Orthodox Confession of the Catholic and Apostolic Eastern Church, from the year 1640. For the En-
glish version, see Sources of Christian Theology I: Sacraments and Worship, ed. P. Palmer (London,
1957), esp. 261.
52. Joseph Gill, The Council of Florence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959),
272–75, 280–81. Gill points out how the pope’s theological adviser John of Torquemada refused
to acknowledge that the epiclesis in the Liturgy of St. Basil is directed to the Eucharistic gifts, as he
restricted the meaning of the epiclesis to the Spirit’s work in the mystical body.
53. For a fascinating look at this history, see Kappes, The Epiclesis Debate at the Council of
Florence.
54. Council of Florence, Decree for the Armenians, DH 1321.
55. To be specific, Florence uses Thomas’s popular work, On the Articles of Faith and the Sacra-
ments of the Church.
56. Council of Florence, Decree for the Jacobites, DH 1352.

230 Th e C on s e c r ation
 Trent reaffirmed that, with the consecration (or the words of institu-
tion, as the context shows), Christ’s body and blood are on the altar.57
Trent responded to Protestant Reformers who refuse transubstantiation
and limit Christ’s presence to the moment of communion.58 The Triden-
tine Fathers did not seek to revisit the Florentine controversy.
We need to identify the precise doctrinal intention of both councils.
Such an ecclesial body can teach without defining something as a truth
of faith (as Vatican II frequently did). On this question, the young Ed-
ward Schillebeeckx makes two key claims. First, the consecratory power
of the words of institution is a teaching of faith. Second, the doctrine that
these words alone consecrate (without the epiclesis) is not a teaching of
faith. The reason for this twofold claim is that Florence refused to con-
demn the more common Greek position (that of Cabasilas), while Trent’s
canon does not take up the question of the epiclesis. Schillebeeckx also
mentions the case of the s­ ixteenth-century Dominican Ambrosius Catha-
rinus, who held that, in the oriental rites, the words of institution and the
epiclesis together consecrate the gifts.59 Catharinus’s work was placed on
the index of forbidden books for a time, but later removed.60 In short,
Florence or another council can determine the form of the Eucharist for
the Latin Church (and the Armenians) without teaching a dogma.61
The teaching of Florence has at least two sources. Starting in the late
twelfth century, the we find a common Latin practice of elevating the
host for adoration immediately after the words of institution. This litur-
gical devotion quickly took root among the people.62 Second, Florence
relies on Aquinas’s theology of sacramental form. For Thomas, since the
words of institution clearly signify the conversion of the gifts into Christ’s
body and blood, then, following his general principle that Christian sac-
raments effect what they signify, the utterance of these words over bread

57. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, chap. 4, DH 1642; canon 4,
DH 1654.
58. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 84; Lawrence Feingold, The Eucharist: Mystery of Pres-
ence, Sacrifice and Communion (Steubenville, Ohio: Emmaus Academic, 2018), 310.
59. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 272–74.
60. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:313n55.
61. My interpretation of Florence and Trent differs from that of P
­ hilippe-Marie Margelidon,
Le sacrement de l’eucharistie: Corpus Domini Jesu Christi, Bibliothèque de la Revue Thomiste (Pa-
ris: Parole et Silence, 2019), 198–202.
62. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 280.

Th e C o n secr at i o n 231
and wine by the minister who can speak in Christ’s person and who has
the intention of consecrating is effective.

A Systematic Theology of the Consecration

The Councils of Florence and Trent have defined for the Latin Church
that the gifts on the altar become Christ’s body and blood through the
words of institution. To better grasp the significance of this teaching and
its relation to eastern Orthodox claims, I will return to an issue already
raised in chapter 3, namely, the distinction between the essence of a sac-
rament and its sign or concrete expression. Without this distinction, any
solution to this debate will likely elude us. I will then consider theological
reasons that support the teaching of Florence. Next, I will take up the sig-
nificance of the epiclesis beyond its consecratory function: What does it
manifest and what does it effect? We also need to take up the charge that
Florence leads to a fragmentation of the Eucharistic prayer. Then, using
Congar’s approach, I will ask whether an agreement is possible between
east and west on this issue. Finally, I will evaluate the alternative proposals
set forth by Vorgrimler, Giraudo, and John McKenna.
The Church’s Eucharistic teaching and any theological account there-
of especially stand at the service of her longstanding liturgical practice.
Ecclesial and theological teaching generally seek to make sense of estab-
lished liturgical practice that has endured over time and been accepted by
the Church, to show the harmony of the practice with Scripture and var-
ious established doctrines.63 For example, faith tells us that Christ insti-
tuted the sacraments. We also see a certain diversity of liturgical practice,
and somewhat diverse teachings among the saints about the efficacy of
this or that part of the liturgy. Church teaching and theological reflection
can point to harmony among these elements, while at times also propos-
ing modifications on the grounds of Scripture, dogma, or sound theolog-
ical reasoning.64
63. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 320.
64. The liturgy is not a transmission of revelation on par with Scripture, since not all of the
liturgy transmits revelation. One of many examples would be the new Eucharistic prayers in the
Roman rite. Consider also that the Church can modify many elements of the liturgy in light of
other sources. For example, some fourth century Fathers modified the epiclesis in order to rein-
force belief in the Spirit’s divinity.

232 Th e C o n s e c r ation
 To bring out this harmony, modern theologians have developed a
distinction between (1) the essence or signification of the sacrament
and (2) the exterior rite. This distinction became explicit in the work of
­seventeenth-century scholastic John of Saint Thomas. We can find traces
of it before that time, and the Church’s teaching on the sacraments essen-
tially assumes it. The distinction will help us to understand the function
of the epiclesis and the words of institution in the liturgy as practiced
through the centuries.65
As I proceed, another distinction is in order. The sacrament of the Eu-
charist is the substantial presence of Christ’s body and blood under the
signs of bread and wine. In this way, the Eucharist is different from other
sacraments, which are the word and gesture themselves (such as pouring
water with the Trinitarian formula). Yet the distinction between the es-
sence of the sacrament and its exterior rite can be applied to the form of
the Eucharist. The other six sacraments essentially consist of acts that sig-
nify a sanctifying reality, where a signification is concretized through par-
ticular words and gestures. These sacraments (and the Eucharistic form)
are faith expressions of a signification or an intention. Some gestures (the
priest taking of bread and wine) are apt to express an intention (the pres-
ence of body and blood), and the gestures are given precision by the ritual
utterance of words (a prayer) that are also apt to express a more specific
intention (the presence of Christ’s body and blood).66 Neither the gesture
alone nor the words taken by themselves bring about the sacrament, but
the fusion of the two is a symbolic act, the concretization of a sacred sig-
nification. Now the signification includes a word of faith (a prayer) and a
liturgical gesture apt to express a particular gift of grace, yet that significa-
tion could be concretized by various prayers and gestures. The words and
gestures used in the liturgy incarnate or particularize this signification.67
Christ has instituted the essence (or substance) of the sacraments (in-
cluding the essence of Eucharistic form and matter), which also means
that he has determined their signification. He established that his body

65. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 321–22. Schillebeeckx prefers to speak of

the substance of the sacrament rather than its essence.
66. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 330–35.
67. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 346–47; McKenna, The Eucharistic Epi-
clesis, 211.

Th e C o n secr at i o n 233
and blood would be given to us as spiritual food and drink and as the
perfect sacrifice, to be offered by the Church through her priests, using
prayers and gestures that are fitting to express this gift and this sacrifice.
Yet he need not have instituted the precise form or prayer by which this
signification is realized. Now as we saw in chapter 3, in the history of the
Eucharistic liturgy, we find the Church’s continual insistence that wheat
bread and wine of the grape be used for the Eucharist. This unbroken
practice reflects Christ’s intention, namely, to determine the matter of the
sacrament, or the precise gesture that would concretize the essence of the
sacrament.68 As for the sacramental form of the Eucharist, the history of
the liturgy and its interpretation by the saints and theologians is more
ambiguous. Also, the widespread or even universal use of the words of
institution in the various anaphora is not an automatic proof that it was
believed to be the means to change the gifts. The issue could not be treat-
ed in an exhaustive manner by medieval Latin scholastics, partly because
these theologians enjoyed only limited knowledge of ancient and eastern
liturgies.69
The Church has been given the ministry of determining and safe-
guarding the sacramental rituals, including their form and matter. That
is, she preserves the essence or signification of Eucharistic form and
matter (and of the other sacraments), and she ensures that this essence
is expressed and celebrated in a fitting manner, one that also respects li-
turgical tradition. Thus, as Pius XII could determine that the matter of
the sacrament of priestly ordination consists in the laying on of hands, so
five centuries earlier, the Council of Florence could determine that the
matter of the same sacrament consists of the handing over of chalice and
paten.70 The Council of Florence established that, for the Latin and Ar-
menian Churches, the words of institution bring about the change of the
gifts, but without condemning competing doctrines emanating from the
Greeks.71
I now offer two arguments to show the liturgical, doctrinal coherence
of the Florentine teaching, to show why it is reasonable for the Church

68. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 349.

69. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 339–42.
70. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 351.
71. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 272–73.

234 Th e C o n s e cr ation
to teach in this way. In addition, the west needs to give an account of the
liturgical function of the epiclesis.
First, the moment of consecration is important, for it allows us to
answer a very legitimate question of the faithful, namely when we may
begin to adore the gifts. Some scholars of liturgy risk going against eight
centuries of western practice of adoring the host and cup after the words
of institution. On what basis do we exclude this practice (which contin-
ues today) from the lex orandi, a practice supported by the very language
of the Roman canon? Also, historically, the east displays striking diversi-
ty on the matter, which renders an eastern appeal to the lex orandi more
complex. As Michael Zheltov points out, P ­ seudo-Germanus of Constan-
tinople’s Historia Ecclesiastica may witness to a medieval eastern practice
of adoring the gifts after the words of institution.72 This would match the
testimony of Basil Bessarion and other Greek bishops, given at the Coun-
cil of Florence.73 Zheltov further notes that some early medieval Byzan-
tine lives of the saints associate the change of the gifts with the call to
communion (at the words: “holy things to the holy”), meaning, not at all
with the anaphora. This doctrine was sidelined by Cabasilas. Overall, the
east tends to emphasize the spiritual efficacy of manual acts or gestures,
for example, the elevation of the gifts, or placing a consecrated host into
wine.74 The common Latin practice of adoring the gifts after the praying
of the words of institution therefore has some support in the Greek tradi-
tion. Overall, the eastern Orthodox claim that the epiclesis is the moment
of consecration seems tentative.
Second, following ­Benoît-Dominique de la Soujeole, we can propose
a Christological argument that it is fitting for the Eucharistic gifts to be
changed at the words of institution. As we saw in an earlier chapter, for
Aquinas, Christ’s humanity is the conjoined instrument of his divine na-
ture. Christ’s salutary divine action is not parallel to his human actions;75
rather, Jesus’ saving divine acts pass through his holy humanity, so that
his human words, acts, and gestures share in that activity. Also, his hu-
manity is an instrument whereby the Holy Spirit is given, for the Spirit

72. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 289–90.

73. Gill, The Council of Florence, 271–72.
74. Zheltov, “The Moment of Eucharistic Consecration in Byzantine Thought,” 291–301, 305.
75. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 19, a. 1.

Th e C o n s ecr at i o n 235
comes in any outpouring of sanctifying grace.76 This doctrine is rooted in
the Filioque: The Father and the Son together eternally spirate the Spirit.
This order of the divine persons continues in the saving economy: The
Incarnate Word gives the Spirit. The Spirit does not come to us without
being given by the Son. Thomas insists that the Spirit’s mission extends
his eternal procession from the Father and the Son. The Trinity’s action in
the economy is marked by the eternal Triune life and manifests it. There is
no separation between God in himself and God among us.77 At the Last
Supper, Jesus’ words and gestures were the efficacious means whereby he
breathed the Spirit who converted the gifts of bread and wine. Jesus in his
humanity institutes the Eucharist and the other sacraments because he is
the instrument by which the Spirit operates in all the sacraments. The me-
diating work of Christ’s humanity should stand at the center in this, the
greatest sacrament. The epiclesis before the words of institution found in
some rites points forward to the Spirit’s coming, to be realized by Christ’s
saving theandric (or ­divine-human) deed. In some eastern rites, the sub-
sequent epiclesis explicitly acknowledges this work of the Spirit. It com-
pletes the signification begun in the institution narrative, which manifests
the Incarnate Word remaking creation by his creative word animated by
the Spirit, who operates in each of Jesus’ saving words and deeds. In short,
the Eucharistic teaching of Aquinas and Florence supports a Chalcedo-
nian Christology without necessarily obscuring the role of the Spirit.78
The preceding point already leads us to ponder the meaning of the
epiclesis, including the type of epiclesis (typical in the west) that does not
directly signify the change of gifts. Here, three further considerations are
in order, namely, the s­ o-called principle of distension, the need to high-
light the Spirit’s consecratory role and the ecclesial fruits of the Eucharist.
First, I turn to the classical liturgical “principle of distension.” Vari-
ous elements of the Mass articulate by word and gesture that which will
occur or has already occurred. Thus, in the rite of presbyteral ordination,

76. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 8, a. 1, ad 1.

77. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 43, aa. 2–3, 6; Gilles Emery, The Trinitarian
Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, trans. Francesca Aran Murphy (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2007), chapter 15.
78. ­Benoît-Dominique de la Soujeole, “La forme de l’eucharistie,” Revue Thomiste 103 (2003):
95–101.

236 Th e Con s e cr ation

the newly ordained receives the chalice and paten from the bishop as a
sign that he receives the power to celebrate the Eucharist. Yet the bish-
ops’ laying on of hands and prayer of ordination occurred several min-
utes before. When the priest receives the paten and chalice as a sign of
his new spiritual power to celebrate the Mass, he has already received that
power in the prayer of ordination. Something analogous can be found in
the Eucharistic liturgy. Due to the limitations of human words, the Mass
cannot express in a single moment the richness of the gift being realized
at a particular moment.79 The same phenomenon can be explained from
the perspective of the needs of the faithful. The liturgy’s downward me-
diation of transmitting divine gifts such as Jesus’ body and blood must be
complemented by its upward mediation of guiding the faithful in right
and devout prayer to God, in worship, sacrifice, and praise. Apparently
repetitious prayers teach and inspire the priest and all the faithful to ask
God’s blessing in various forms, even though that blessing might be re-
ceived previously or subsequently.80
Second, the epiclesis makes clear that the transformative power of
Christ’s words over the gifts is inseparable from the Spirit’s action upon
the bread and wine. Christ’s action in the priest is possible by the pow-
er of the Spirit that dwells in his humanity and thus also passes through
the priest. The epiclesis heightens the expression of the priest’s and the
Church’s dependence on the Spirit for every blessing obtained in the Eu-
charistic liturgy.
Third, in many Eucharistic prayers, the epiclesis asks that the Eucha-
ristic gifts may sanctify and unite those who partake of them. The Church
thus begs the Spirit to act in the hearts of those present, so that commu-
nion may lead to the deeper integration of the members of Christ’s body
with their head and with one another (that is, with the whole Church).81
Bouyer has signaled the ancient Jewish origins of this prayer, which looks

79. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:311–12; S. Salaville, “Épiclèse eucharistique,” in Diction-
naire de théologie catholique, ed. E. Mangenot, vol. 5 (Paris: Librairie Letouzey et Âne, 1913), col.
294.
80. Michon M. Matthiesen, Sacrifice as Gift: Eucharist, Grace and Contemplative Prayer in
Maurice de la Taille (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2013), 108.
81. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 136–37; Joseph Pohle, Lehrbuch der Dogmatik in sieben
Büchern, 7th ed., vol. 3, Wissenschaftliche Bibliothek, Series 1: Theologische Lehrbücher 22 (Pad-
erborn, Germany: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1922), 254.

Th e C o n secr at i o n 237
forward to Israel’s eschatological unity.82 In the language of Henri de
Lubac: the Eucharist makes the Church.83
I have argued that the teaching of Florence on the form of the Eu-
charist has a sound liturgical and theological basis. Still, some worry that
western theologies of this type risk fragmenting the Eucharistic prayer.84
Aquinas provides a striking example. He holds that a priest can consecrate
bread and wine while skipping all the other parts of Mass, even though
this is gravely sinful.85 Here, we should keep in mind Thomas’s broader
theological project. His approach to the words of institution allows him
to account for the presence of true Eucharistic celebrations outside the
visible bounds of the Catholic Church, for instance, by validly ordained
schismatic priests, whose prayers in the name of the people (offerimus) are
false, since they are not in communion with the Church.86 Still, Aqui-
nas’s argument almost exclusively focuses on the priestly character (the
metaphysical seal) and the efficacy of the words of institution uttered
with the intention of consecrating.
It is noteworthy that many theologians of Aquinas’s era did not ac-
cept his position.87 In addition, de la Soujeole appeals to none other than
Thomas to argue that it is essential for the priest to follow the Church’s
intention, which is to celebrate a sacrament. Consequently, the minister
consecrates by intending to celebrate the Church’s ritual, in which the
sign of the consecration is bound up with the signs of the other prayers.88
We might also add the following argument: the priest should intend not
just to convert bread and wine into Christ’s body and blood, but also to
celebrate a sacrifice (or at a minimum, not to refuse this act). If the lat-

82. Bouyer, The Eucharist, 311.

83. This phrase expresses the driving theme of Henri de Lubac’s classic study, Corpus Mysti-
cum: L’Eucharistie et l’Église au Moyen Âge, étude historique (Paris: Aubier, 1949). English transla-
tion: Corpus Mysticum: The Eucharist and the Church in the Middle Ages, trans. Gemma Simmonds
and Richard Price (London: SCM Press, 2006).
84. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:294–99, 306.
85. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 1, ad 4. We should distinguish Thomas’s
position from the idea of later theologians that a wicked priest could consecrate all the bread in a
bakery.
86. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 7.
­ ierre-Marie Gy, “Prière eucharistique et paroles de la consécration,” in La liturgie dans
87. P
l’histoire (Paris, Cerf, 1990), 217.
88. De la Soujeole, “La forme de l’eucharistie,” 102. He appeals to Summa theologiae III, q. 64,
a. 8, ad 2–3.

238 Th e Co n s e cr ation
ter is essential to intending a consecratory act in persona Christi, then it
seems that a cultic setting is necessary for the words of institution to be
fruitful.89 The Eucharist is essentially both sacrament and sacrifice.
This solution has at least three advantages. First, it makes sense of the
traditional discipline that, if the priest happens to discover after the con-
secration that the host placed on the altar was in fact not bread, he can
begin the consecration again without repeating the prayers that precede
the words of institution.90 The priest remains within the liturgical setting
that gives the consecration its full, sacrificial, and ecclesial signification,
while the consecration itself is the prayer that effects the change of gifts.
Second, this approach gives a theological account of the priest who suf-
fers imprisonment for the sake of the Gospel, obtains bread and wine and
secretly celebrates the Mass as best he can, with the words of institution
included. Third, this solution reunites the consecration with the rest of
the Eucharistic prayer, yet without sacrificing the lex orandi of the Roman
rite.
Latin theology can therefore respect both the integrity of the Eu-
charistic prayer and longstanding liturgical practices proper to its rite.
Indeed, as the west continues its dialogue with eastern Orthodoxy, atten-
tiveness to the logic of each liturgy will be crucial. As Congar points out,
different ecclesial cultures stand behind this controversy. The sacramental
culture of the west is more ­Christo-centric, that of the east, marked as
is it by ­fourth-century controversies, is more oriented toward the Trinity
as a whole. The west places greater emphasis on the priest’s instrumen-
tal action and insists that he operates in persona Christi, as a sacramental
reality who represents Christ. Thus, the Latin sacramental formulas use
fewer prayers asking for God’s intervention and more indicative formulas,
such as “I baptize you,” and “I absolve you from your sins.” The Byzantine
tradition, without denying that the priest prays in persona Christi, focus-
es more on the minister’s prayer on behalf of the Church, using words
such as, “He is baptized,” and, “May God forgive you.” The Eucharistic
epiclesis is said in the plural form (east and west). Thus, the west high-
lights the action of the priest, while the east highlights the action of the

89. Bernard Leeming, in his Principles of Sacramental Theology, (London: Longmans, 1956),
484–85, makes a similar point.
90. Schillebeeckx, L’économie sacramentelle du salut, 281.

Th e C o n s ecr at i o n 239
whole Church. In the Eucharistic liturgy, especially since the twelfth cen-
tury, the west has placed greater emphasis on Christ’s substantial pres-
ence, while the east, without denying or minimizing this truth, tends to
emphasize more the Spirit’s sanctifying work through the sacred gifts on
the altar. Finally, the west highlights the sacraments’ historical continuity
with Christ, while the east highlights the present descent of the heavenly
Jerusalem by the power of the Spirit.91 Each liturgical culture possesses a
particular and irreplaceable richness. The east might risk minimizing the
words of institution, while the west may risk minimizing the epiclesis.
The Roman liturgy itself strongly suggests that the words of institution
are the moment of consecration, while the eastern liturgies lean toward
the epiclesis. Eucharistic theology needs to take this into account.
In light of all this, how might the Latin and Byzantine traditions
reach agreement? Congar offers the following proposal. The priest should
intend to celebrate according to his proper rite, which may affect how the
gifts change. We might nuance this point and say: in celebrating a rite, the
priest accepts the structure and meaning of that rite, and his intention
is shaped by it. Hence, the Latin priest’s intention is to pronounce the
words of institution not as a narrative but in applying them to the gifts
on the altar. The Byzantine priest’s intention to consecrate focuses on the
epiclesis, to celebrate the mystery by asking the Spirit to make the words
of institution fruitful. Now this need not mean that, in the oriental rites,
the gifts actually change only when the epiclesis has been pronounced.92
Perhaps the west can remain apophatic about what occurs in eastern Or-
thodox liturgies, somewhat as the eastern liturgical traditions have them-
selves been diverse in their answers over the centuries.
Of course, there is one eastern Eucharistic prayer that (at least in its
contemporary use) has no explicit institution narrative, namely, Addai
and Mari. What do we make of this anaphora? Our historical study above
noted that its ancient form remains uncertain. The current use has the
words of institution present in a dispersed way. Now the Chaldean rite
of the Catholic Church has prayed the Addai and Mari with the words
of institution since at least the sixteenth century, if not before, with gen-

91. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:314–15.

92. Congar, Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, 3:313.

240 Th e Co n s e cr ation
uflections following each consecration.93 Rather than seeing this as an
unfortunate western imposition (if it was imposed), we might note that
the practice has taken root. In addition, the ancient anaphora closest to
Addai and Mari (Theodore, Nestorius, and Sharar) all use the institu-
tion narrative. It therefore seems to constitute no violation of Addai and
Mari’s theological and liturgical culture to propose that an explicit insti-
tution narrative be inserted into the anaphora of the Assyrian Church of
the East.
To conclude, we can return to the alternative theories indicated at
the beginning of this chapter and ask: Why not posit the whole Eucha-
ristic prayer as consecratory? First, I have already given a partial response
above, on the importance of the liturgical context for the words of in-
stitution. Second, the proponents of the notion that entire Eucharistic
prayer is what changes the gifts tend to appeal to the Fathers, yet only
some Fathers seem to suggest this, always with a note of ambiguity, and
without a direct answer to the question posed. Third, it is hard to see how
this notion can be reconciled with the adoration shown to the Eucharistic
gifts after the words of institution throughout the west over the past eight
hundred years. Nor is it clear how the proposal can respect the teachings
of Florence and Trent.
Vorgrimler and other theologians prefer to avoid any talk of a single
moment of consecration. For example, John McKenna thinks that the in-
sistence on a precise moment of consecration brings with it an excessive
focus on the substantial presence of Christ and risks obscuring his per-
sonal presence. While he seeks to affirm a bodily presence of Christ in
the Eucharist, McKenna (drawing on Schillebeeckx) holds that “this is no
more real than the mutual presence of Christ and his faithful in the life
of grace.”94 McKenna’s notion of presence is too univocal: the encounter
with Christ dwelling in our hearts is authentic, yet not simply the same as
encountering him in the sacraments. Nor is it clear why Christ’s presence
to us is somehow diminished by a theology of transubstantiation. For just
as the hypostatic union enables a deeper encounter with the Son of God,
so transubstantiation makes possible a spousal encounter with the same

93. Missel chaldéen: L’ordre des mystères avec les trois anaphores, selon le rite de la sainte Eglise de
l’Orient, ed. Francis Alichoran and P. Perrier (Paris: Eglise chaldéenne, 1982), 16, 82–83.
94. McKenna, The Eucharistic Epiclesis, 198.

Th e C o n s ecr at i o n 241
Son in his very flesh and blood. McKenna seems to fear a substantial,
­non-personal presence of Christ’s body and blood; but what would such
a presence even be?
Finally, Giraudo proposes that the words of institution perfect the
epiclesis and vice versa, so that each is fully consecratory. This claim in-
volves no contradiction, says Giraudo, since the change of the gifts hap-
pens in “sacramental time.” We should leave behind our natural notion of
chronological time and accept a vision of time that is analogous to Trent’s
doctrine of Christ’s Eucharistic body not being in a “place.” Just as natural
place (as an accident) cannot explain Christ’s corporeal presence, so natu-
ral time cannot explain when or how the gifts are changed.95 Yet Giraudo
gives little explanation of what sacramental time is. Nor is it clear that
the analogy with sacramental place works. Scholastic theologians worked
out highly complex theories of Eucharistic accidents, in reliance on a long
philosophical tradition of reflection on substance and accident. For ex-
ample, philosophy allowed them to posit substance and place as distinct
yet also linked: Christ is “in heaven” as in a place, and he is “on the altar”
insofar as his body and blood become accessible through the accidents
that are properly in that place. Giraudo posits a category of sacramental
time that has no clear philosophical or theological foundation. Indeed,
for him, sacramental and chronological time appear to be parallel or sep-
arated, unlike the substance of Christ (his body and blood) and the place
of the bread and wine accidents. That is, we do in fact access Christ’s body
and blood through a particular place. Giraudo’s exclusion of chronologi-
cal time risks disincarnating the sacrament.

Conclusion
Sacraments effect what they signify, in the context of a minister’s inten-
tion and the faith of the Church. The Church can know how she is to
celebrate various sacraments in order to ensure their fruitfulness, as when
we use the Trinitarian formula and water in baptism. Her conviction is
rooted in longstanding liturgical practice. Marked differences therein can
justify distinct doctrines in east and west. The more apophatic style of the

95. Giraudo, In unum corpus, 559–60.

242 Th e C on s e c r ation
east can be respected, even as the west follows its own tradition rooted in
Ambrose, the language of the Roman canon, and ­centuries-old patterns
of liturgical worship. Here, a distinction between temporary practices
and an established lex orandi is crucial: Latin theology cannot simply set
aside its own liturgical heritage. The Florentine doctrine on the form of
the Eucharist harmonizes beautifully with faith in the Filioque and with
a Christology that closely links the coming of the Spirit to the action of
Christ’s humanity. None of this entails a marginalization of the epicle-
sis: its signification of the Spirit’s work in the liturgy is crucial, and the
prayer brings a new grace to the assembly and to the whole Church. Also,
the Florentine teaching on the consecration need not separate the words
of institution from their liturgical context. The words of institution do
indeed effect a change of the gifts, when the minister celebrates the sac-
rament of the Eucharist as a sacramental sacrifice. In the New Passover,
Christ’s presence is at once corporeal (the Lamb) and personal (the Mes-
siah), without tension or competition, as in the Incarnation. This cele-
bration is a grace that takes root in the Church’s time, which is the time
of pilgrims, a time linked with transcendence. Hence, we can indeed say
“when” the victorious lamb is in our midst.

Th e C o n s ecr at i o n 243
Th e M i n i s te r
Th e M i n i s te r
Ch a p t e r 8

}
THE MINISTER OF
THE EUCHARIST

The study of the consecration naturally leads us to ponder the identi-

ty and role of the minister of the Eucharist, the one who celebrates this
sacrament with and for the Church. Previous chapters already began to
touch on this theme. In the chapter on the institution of the Eucharist,
we saw the significance of Christ’s command at the Last Supper to “do
this” in his memory. The chapter on sacrifice placed much emphasis on
the representation of Christ as offering his body and blood. I now take up
other fundamental aspects of the minister of the Eucharist. The following
does not entail a synthesis of the theology of the priesthood. Rather, I
will focus on the bishop and priest as celebrant of the Eucharistic sacri-
fice. This specification calls for clarification: the present aim is not to re-
main strictly within the limits of a Tridentine doctrine of the priesthood
as essentially ordered to the Eucharistic sacrifice. Instead, I will place this
valuable teaching within the broader perspective of Vatican II, that is, in
relation to the priest’s overall mission, his relation to the bishop, and the
priest’s role of praying in the name of the whole Church.

244
 The present chapter circles around the following questions: First,
who can celebrate the Eucharist, and why? Second, what is the minister’s
relation to Christ? (Both of these questions are of great concern to our
Protestant brethren.) Third, what is the priest’s relation to the Church?
Fourth, what is the significance of the minister’s gender? Fifth, what mat-
ters must be considered regarding concelebration? I take up these ques-
tions via a survey of biblical, liturgical, and patristic witnesses, and then
answer them through a systematic treatment.

The Minister of the Eucharist in Scripture, the

Early Church, and the Magisterium
The New Testament offers only a few clues about the identity of the pre-
sider at Eucharist. For example, the Acts of the Apostles mentions the
breaking of the bread on several occasions, which likely is a Eucharistic
reference. Luke usually does not specify who leads this ritual. However,
in the most important reference (Acts 2:42–46), Luke probably means
that the apostles presided.1 Other passages either explicitly or perhaps
implicitly show Paul presiding (esp. Acts 20:7–8).2 In Jerusalem, the
breaking of the bread took place in the homes of Christians (Acts 2:42–
46). Some authors argue that the head of the household would have pre-
sided, regardless of any sacramental ordination.3 This claim lacks a tex-
tual foundation. Also, the early Christian liturgy’s structure was heavily
marked by Jewish ritual, including prayers at Jewish meals. In the Jewish
culture, the identity and function of the presider for such prayers was
strictly regulated. This means that, from a strictly historical perspective, it
is highly unlikely that early Christian practice would include few regula-
tions or instructions on who presides at the Eucharist.4

1. ­Jean-Pierre Torrell, A Priestly People: Baptismal Priesthood and the Priestly Ministry, trans.
Peter Heinegg (New York: Paulist Press, 2013), 103–5.
2. Xavier ­Léon-Dufour, Le partage du pain eucharistique selon le Nouveau Testament (Paris:
Seuil, 1982), 31–32. Paul also breaks bread at Acts 27:35, but this may or may not be a Eucharistic
setting. See Darrell L. Bock, Acts, Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic Press, 2007), 740.
3. Edward Schillebeeckx, Ministry: A Case for Change (London: SCM Press, 1981), 30.
4. ­Hervé-Marie Legrand, “La présidence de l’Eucharistie selon la tradition ancienne,” Spiritus
69 (1977), 410–11. Legrand also thinks it possible that Acts 13:1–2 shows that the “prophets and

Th e M i ni s t er 245
 The most valuable biblical evidence for our argument is found in
the Gospel accounts of the Last Supper. First, we saw in chapter 3 that
Jesus instituted a new sacrifice in the Upper Room. In ancient Judaism,
it would have been unthinkable not to specify who is the minister of the
sacrifice. Second, we have noted the Passover setting of the Last Supper.
In Jewish Passover custom, the identity of the presider is crucial. Third, at
the Last Supper, Jesus is gathered with “the twelve” (Mk 14:17, Mt 26:20)
or “with the apostles” (Lk 22:14). There is no evidence that others were
present in the room. In chapter 3, we noted the possible cultic sense of
“do this.” In any case, it is clear that Jesus commands the memorial cel-
ebration of his Last Supper, and does so while addressing a very specif-
ic group of disciples.5 The implication is that those (or at least some of
those) who share in the apostles’ mission will also preside at the Eucharist.
But who would have led the celebration in the first and second cen-
turies? Was it just apostles, bishops, and priests, or perhaps also other
leaders, such as prophets, as some historians argue? In the early Church,
“prophets” may have held an ecclesial office linked with a charismatic gift.
They may also have presided at Eucharist.6 In chapter 10, verse 6, of the
Didache, we find a thanksgiving prayer that may be part of a weekday Eu-
charistic liturgy, a prayer that can be recited by a prophet (an itinerant,
missionary figure who does not belong to the local church). The text later
calls the prophets “your high priests.” They are said to render a sacerdotal
service.7 This description could signal that the prophets in question may
be presbyters.8 But this point remains disputed.9 A clear reference to the
Eucharist is found later, in chapters 14–15, where the bishops and dea-
cons exercise a leading though unspecified role.10 Overall, the Didache

teachers,” holders of ecclesial offices, presided at liturgy. For the reference to prophets, see the dis-
cussion of the Didache below.
5. Torrell, A Priestly People, 103.
6. Legrand, “La présidence de l’Eucharistie,” 411.
7. Didache, chap. 13, verse 1.
8. Albert-Marie de Monléon, Charismes et ministères dans l’Écriture, et l’expérience de l’Église,
Chemins ouverts (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1995), 104.
9. Thomas O’Loughlin, “Are ‘the Bishops . . . the “High Priests” Who Preside at the Eucha-
rist’?: A Note on the Sources of the Text of Sensus Fidei,” New Blackfriars 98 (March 2017): 236.
10. ­Michel-Yves Perrin, “Pratiques et discours eucharistiques dans les premiers siècles (des
origines jusqu’à la fin du IVe siècle): Considérations introductives,” in Eucharistia: Encyclopédie
de l’eucharistie, ed. Maurice Brouard (Paris: Cerf, 2002), 110; Niederwimmer, The Didache: A

246 Th e M ini s te r
hardly allows us to draw firm conclusions about the minister of the Eu-
charist. It does not clearly show laymen presiding at Eucharist. Yet if these
interpretations hold, then the text confirms three things: (1) there is some
regulation over who presides, (2) the one who celebrates also preaches the
word, and (3) the one who celebrates also (but not always) shares in the
work of governing the community.
Ignatius of Antioch is the first explicit witness to a threefold division
of hierarchical ministers, namely, bishops, presbyters, and deacons. This
historical fact does not exclude the possibility that this threefold struc-
ture existed before Ignatius. However, in the first century, the terminol-
ogy used for the Church’s official ministers was somewhat fluid. In his
Letter to the Smyrnians, Ignatius reserves the presiding function at Eucha-
rist to the bishop and to those commissioned by the bishop. He explains
that every local church has one bishop, assisted by several presbyters and
by deacons, who gather around him for the Eucharist, which is the sacra-
ment of unity, the sign and celebration of the members’ communion with
their bishop, and thus with Christ.11
In his First Apology, Justin Martyr states that the one who presides
over or governs the Church also presides at Eucharist. He does not use
specific terms such as bishop or presbyter to describe this minister.12 But
Eusebius of Caesarea’s Ecclesiastical History mentions a letter by Irenaeus
of Lyon that refers to the Roman Easter liturgy in the year 154, at which
the bishop presides.13 Nothing in Justin’s writings about the Sunday Eu-
charist contradicts Irenaeus’s witness.
Writing in the late second century, Tertullian mentions that the pre-
sider of the Eucharist presides also over the Church. He speaks of presby-
ters and ordained persons.14 After leaving the Church for the Montanist
movement, Tertullian composed The Exhortation to Chastity, where he

Commentary, trans. Linda M. Maloney, Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the
Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1998), 243–44. See also chapter 13 of the Didache.
11. Ignatius of Antioch, “Letter to the Smyrneans,” no. 8; Legrand, “La présidence de l’Eucha-
ristie,” 413–14.
12. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chaps. 65, 67.
13. Eusebius of Caesarea, Ecclesiastical History, bk. 5, chap. 24, no. 17, as mentioned in Le-
grand, “La présidence de l’Eucharistie,” 416. See Eusebius of Caesarea, Ecclesiastical History, Books
1–5, trans. Roy J. Deferrari (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005).
14. See Tertullian, De Corona, chap. 3, no. 3, in Tertullian, Opera Montanistica, vol. 2, ed. Aem.
Kroymann, CCSL 2 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1954), 1043.

Th e M i n i s t er 247
states that where ordained ministers are absent, two or three laypersons
can gather and celebrate the Eucharist.15 In early Church history, Ter-
tullian stands isolated on this point. The only known supporting case is
found in the practice of some ­fourth-century lay missionaries to Ethiopia,
who apparently celebrated the Eucharist.16 However, the ancient tradi-
tion consistently follows another path.
Hippolytus of Rome’s Apostolic Tradition gives a fairly detailed de-
scription of the Eucharistic celebrant in the episcopal ordination rite. The
celebrant is the one who presides over the church, has been elected by the
people, and has been ordained and received an apostolic charism. He is
compared to the high priest of the Old Testament. Hippolytus is the first
Christian writer to use classic sacerdotal language in an explicit way when
referring to the Eucharistic presider.17 For Hippolytus, it is also evident
that presbyters can celebrate the Eucharist, for example, when they con-
celebrate with the bishop immediately after their own ordination. The
new Roman Rite for presbyteral ordination has largely integrated this
third century prayer of ordination. Here, the charge of shepherding the
flock through the Holy Spirit’s power is mentioned first, and then comes
the task of offering the Church’s Eucharistic gifts.18 Hippolytus’s text had
considerable influence on other ancient liturgical traditions.19
Cyprian of Carthage maintains that only a bishop or presbyter cele-
brates the Eucharist. This is because the Last Supper serves as the essential
model for the Eucharist. Christians are to imitate Christ’s celebration of
the Last Supper. Thus, just as Christ had a unique role as presider at the
Last Supper, so does the priest or bishop at the liturgy. The priest can cel-
ebrate the Eucharist because he participates in Christ in a special way. He

15. Tertullian, De Exhortatione Castitatis, chap. 7, no. 3, in Opera Montanistica, 2:1024–1025.

16. Legrand, “La présidence de l’Eucharistie,” 418–19; Legrand refers to Theodoret of Cyrus’s
Ecclesiastical History, bk. 1, chap. 23, no. 5. See Theodoret of Cyrus, Histoire ecclésiastique, trans.
Pierre Canivet, Sources chrétiennes 501 (Paris: Cerf, 2006).
17. Hippolytus of Rome, Apostolic Tradition, nos. 3, 34, as mentioned in Legrand, “La prési-
dence de l’Eucharistie,” 416–17. For the text of Hippolytus, see the edition by Paul F. Bradshaw,
Maxwell E. Johnson, and L. Edward Phillips, eds., The Apostolic Tradition: A Commentary, Her-
meneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2002).
18. Legrand, “La présidence de l’Eucharistie,” 422–23.
19. Bernard Botte, “Holy Orders in the Ordination Prayers,” in The Sacrament of Holy Orders:
Some Papers and Discussions concerning Holy Orders at a Session of the Centre de Pastorale Litur-
gique, 1955 (London: Aquin Press, 1957), 19.

248 Th e M i ni s te r
is a type or vicar of Christ.20 Enrico Mazza points out that, for Cyprian,
the priest can imitate Christ’s role at the Last Supper, for he has received a
special outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Hence, the priest’s actions become
the very actions of Christ. This ensures the identity of the Mass with the
Last Supper.21
The liturgical scholar Bernard Botte signals that the early rites of
priestly ordination tend to make greater reference to the presbyters’ co-
operation with the bishop in the governance of the local church than to
their Eucharistic function. However, the latter function is part of the for-
mer, as we will see shortly. Finally, Botte notes that the ancient Byzantine
rite of priestly ordination indicates the presbyter’s task of offering sacri-
fice, while one version of the ancient Roman rite of ordination (found in
the Gelasian Sacramentary) speaks of the presbyters changing the offering
of the people into Christ’s body and blood.22
Let us consider one major reason for the patristic insistence that a
priest or bishop preside at Eucharist. For Ignatius, Tertullian, Hippolytus,
and Cyprian, the bishop is the normal presider at the Eucharist because he
presides also over the local ecclesial community. Why this link between
Eucharistic presiding and shepherding the flock? First and above all, the
local Eucharistic assembly was the local Church in act. Thus, the Eucharist
was called synaxis, which means assembly or gathering. We can see this,
for example, in the f­ourth-century moral and liturgical compilation, the
Apostolic Constitutions.23 To attend the Eucharist was to be a member of
the Church, and vice versa. To receive the Eucharist was to be in a state of
communion with the Church. The sign of being in mortal sin or without
the true faith was to be excluded from communion. Receiving the body
of Christ meant being in communion with his mystical body, as mediat-
ed through the local church. The bishop was responsible for keeping vig-
il that only those with right faith and Christian morals receive commu-
nion. Second, the Eucharistic prayer must reflect the true faith. Before the
fourth century, this prayer was usually pronounced without a set text but
20. Cyprian of Carthage, “Letter 63,” nos. 2, 10, 14, 17–19.
21. Enrico Mazza, The Celebration of the Eucharist: The Origin of the Rite and the Development
of Its Interpretation, trans. Matthew J. O’Connell (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1998),
125–28.
22. Botte, “Holy Orders in the Ordination Prayers,” 7–11, 16.
23. Apostolic Constitutions, bk. 2, chap. 39, nos. 1–2.

Th e M i ni s t er 249
according to a fixed structure.24 In the fourth and fifth centuries, Eucha-
ristic prayers became the site of theological battles regarding the raging
Christological controversies.25 Only one whose faith has been approved as
in harmony with the faith of the bishops can preside. The presider’s faith
must be the bishop’s faith, and the faith of his brother bishops.
I briefly return to Botte’s study of ancient rituals for episcopal and
presbyteral ordinations. Based on his survey of Hippolytus’ Apostolic Tra-
dition, the Egyptian ordination ritual Serapion, and the Byzantine and
Roman rites, he notes the following theological pattern in these liturgical
texts: First, the hierarchy appears as a reality willed by God. Second, the
Eucharist is a collective act, not the solitary sacramental deed of one min-
ister (though Botte does not deny a unique role to the minister). Third,
the bishops and priests are not delegates of the community, even if the
faithful elect them. Fourth, the bishops are successors of the apostles, and
thus they can mediate divine gifts. By implication, the presbyters have a
share in that succession and privilege of mediation. Fifth, episcopal or
presbyteral consecration imparts spiritual gifts, whereby the recipients
may build up the Church.26 Overall, Botte shows that, following the lex
orandi of these ordination prayers, the ability to celebrate the Eucharist is
not delegated by the people, but comes from above. This neatly matches
a similar pattern in the New Testament. As Albert Vanhoye has noted, in
the New Testament, the Church’s ministers are not delegates of the as-
sembly but instruments of Christ.27
By the third century, a clear pattern emerges: bishops and presbyters,
and no one else, celebrate the Eucharist. First- and ­second-century evi-
dence does not offer any evident contradiction of this rule (the schismat-
ic Tertullian does not count). The pattern finds explicit confirmation in
the regional Council of Arles (314), canon 15, and the Council of Nicaea
(325), canon 18.28 The great ­fourth-century Fathers confirm this practice.
24. Louis Bouyer, Eucharist: Theology and Spirituality of the Eucharistic Prayer, trans. Charles
Underhill Quinn (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), 136.
25. ­Hervé-Marie Legrand, “Communion ecclésiale et Eucharistie aux premiers siècles,” L’année
canonique 25 (1981): 129–35.
26. Botte, “Holy Orders in the Ordination Prayers,” 20–27.
27. Albert Vanhoye, Prêtres anciens, prêtre nouveau selon le Nouveau Testament (Paris: Éditions
du Seuil, 1980), 316.
28. Ángel García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero: Trattato ­storico-dogmatico sul mistero eu-
caristico, Sussidi di teologia (Rome: EDUSC, 2006), 468–69.

250 Th e M ini s te r
Ambrose mentions that the Eucharistic sacrifice is realized by an ordained
minister.29 In the midst of the Donatist controversy, Augustine argues
that the minister of the Eucharist is an ordained bishop or priest, regard-
less of his personal holiness: Christ still acts through him as through his
servants.30
The last theme shows the close link between Christ’s priestly presence
at the Eucharist and the presiding function of the bishop or priest. For the
Fathers were convinced that Christ himself is the chief celebrant of every
Eucharist: he is the host of the sacrificial meal, the heavenly high priest
offering a single sacrifice already completed on the Cross in the presence
of his Father, the high priest who acts through human instruments here
below. Thus, Origen’s Commentary on Matthew describes the Last Supper
as both a past and a present reality. Jesus continues to give food and drink,
but now we are his guests or companions at table. Christ even drinks the
cup with us, says Origen.31 In a Holy Thursday homily from the year
400, falsely attributed to Cyril of Alexandria, Theophilus of Alexandria
also expounds on the Last Supper as a present reality: the Incarnate Logos
invites us to the banquet to feed on his flesh and blood, and there Christ
himself hosts and serves us. He is at once the priest and the offering.32 In
his Mystagogical Catecheses, Cyril of Jerusalem follows Origen’s lead as he
refers to Christ’s action at the Last Supper as a present, liturgical reality:
As Christ once transformed water into wine at the Wedding at Cana, so
now he transforms wine into blood. For this reason, we can partake of
his flesh and blood with full confidence.33 The implication is that Christ
himself changes the gifts today.34

29. Ambrose, Explanatio Psalmorum XII, ed. M. Petschenig, Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasti-
corum Latinorum 64 (Vindobonae: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,
1999), no. 38.25–26, pp. 203–4.
30. Bruce Marshall, “What Is the Eucharist? A Dogmatic Outline,” in The Oxford Handbook
of Sacramental Theology, ed. Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2015), 506.
31. Origen, In Matth. Comm., sermon 86, quoted in Betz Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der grie-
chischen Väter, 1.1:94.
32. ­Pseudo-Cyril of Alexandria, Hom. 10 in coenam myst. (PG 77, 1017CD), quoted in Betz,
Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter, 1.1:97.
33. Cyril of Jerusalem, “Mystagogical Lecture 4,” nos. 2–3.
34. Johannes Betz, Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter, vol. 1.1: Die Aktualprä-
senz der Person und des Heilswerkes Jesu im Abendmahl nach der vorephesinischen griechischen Pat-
ristik (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1955), 101–2.

Th e M i n i s t er 251
 In medieval times, we find important magisterial interventions on
the question of who presides at Eucharist. In the face of new popular re-
ligious movements, Pope Innocent III and Lateran Council IV (in 1215)
taught that only a priest (or bishop) can celebrate Mass.35 Trent faced
Protestant objections to the legitimacy of the sacramental priesthood. In
response, the Tridentine Decree on the Sacrament of Holy Orders affirmed
that Christ transmitted a priestly power to the apostles at the Last Supper,
in order that that they (and their successors) could consecrate bread and
wine, so that these gifts become Christ’s body and blood.36 Here, the ex-
istence of the ministerial priesthood and its origin in Christ was at issue.
These doctrines are taken up in the teachings of Vatican II, which I will
consider in the next section.37

A Systematic Theology of the

Eucharistic Celebrant
Our historical survey has shown the consistent practice of having a bish-
op or a priest celebrate the Eucharist. I noted the patristic doctrine of
Christ’s priestly presence at Mass. In chapter 3, we saw the traditional
teaching that, at the Last Supper, Jesus commissioned the apostles and
their successors to celebrate the Eucharist, to “do this in memory of me,”
a classical reading supported by recent biblical exegesis. Christ imparts to
the twelve a commission and a spiritual gift, a call and a spiritual power.
This commission and gift continue in the ministry of bishops and priests.
Exactly what is this gift and how is it exercised? That question will run
through this section.
The present study will proceed in five steps. First, I look to the liturgi-
cal prayers for indications on the function of the minister. Second, I will
discuss the minister’s instrumental, metaphysical causality. Third, I will
take up the theme of representation, as I expand on the treatment of this
topic from the study of Eucharistic sacrifice. This includes a study of how
the priest represents the Church, a ­much-debated issue. Fourth, I extend
the last point by pondering the celebrant’s relation to the people, in light
35. Lateran Council IV, De fide Catholica, DH 802.
36. Council of Trent, DH 1771; García Ibáñez, L’eucaristia, dono e mistero, 470–71.
37. See, for example, Lumen Gentium, nos. 10–11, 21, 28; Presbyterorum Ordinis, no. 2.

252 Th e M i ni s te r
of Vatican II. Finally, I will offer a brief treatment of disputed questions
surrounding concelebration.

Lex orandi and the Celebrant of the Eucharist

The Eucharistic prayers manifest a twofold pattern for the celebrant’s ac-
tion. I will base my argument on the Roman rite, but the same pattern
can easily be found in other liturgical families. I will then consider the sig-
nificance of this pattern in light of other theological doctrines, especially
Christology and general principles of sacramental theology. The liturgy
is a source of theology, yet we should note that, just as we read Scripture
with the lens of the creeds and the metaphysical theologies that support
them, so we interpret the liturgy.
In the epiclesis, the presider begs God the Father to send his Holy
Spirit upon the gifts so that they may become Christ’s body and blood.
The priest makes a request, one that will surely be accepted by God. The
prayer expresses the priest’s utter subordination to God. The epiclesis is
said in the plural form, for the priest acts on behalf of the entire Church.
In the name of the Church, he asks that the Spirit come onto the gifts.
The liturgy shows the priest to be a servant of the Church in the very act
of presiding at the Eucharist.
At the words of institution, the celebrant does not say “This is Christ’s
body,” but “This is my body.” The priest’s prayer is unique, for nowhere
else does he seem to be as fused with Christ himself. The closest instance
would be the Roman rite’s formula of absolution in sacramental reconcili-
ation, where the priest says: “I absolve you from your sins.”
Finally, throughout the Eucharistic prayer (in the various liturgi-
cal families of east and west), the presider consistently speaks in the
­first-person plural. As he utters prayers of praise, petition and thanksgiv-
ing, he addresses the Father with formula such as “We offer to you . . .”
or “Almighty God, we pray . . . .” Here too, the priest speaks for the whole
Church.
We have two types of liturgical formulas that point to the priest’s
unique role. First, at the epiclesis, the priest expresses his and the Church’s
complete dependence on the Spirit. In the prayers that precede and fol-
low the consecration, he speaks to God the Father in the name of the
whole Church. Here, we have the priest and the Church praying to God.

Th e M i ni s t er 253
Second, at the consecration, the priest manifests his radical identity with
Christ.38

The Instrumental Causality of the Priest:

Acting in persona Christi
The celebrant’s action at Mass involves an extension of Christ’s priestly
ministry. Few have shown this as well as Aquinas. For Thomas, the mode
of Christ’s action in the priest at Mass follows (analogously) from the
manner in which Christ’s divine power worked through his sacred hu-
manity during his ministry on earth. Earlier, we studied the instrumental
activity of Christ’s humanity: grace or a share in divine life are poured out
through his human words and deeds, by the actions of his human mind
and heart, soul and body. That is, Christ’s two natures do not operate
in parallel fashion. This metaphysical Christology, with its roots in the
Greek Fathers and great Christological councils (from Ephesus to Con-
stantinople III) sheds light on how we are saved through Christ’s human-
ity. The same metaphysical Christology illumines the celebrant’s mediat-
ing work at Mass.
Aquinas grounds the Church’s cultic acts in Christ’s priesthood.39
This ensures that her sacrifice is in fact none other than Christ’s. One way
we share in his priestly work is by an extension of his instrumental activity
to the liturgy itself. That is, ritual words and deeds share in the instru-
mental power of Christ’s human words and deeds. The most powerful
instance of this participation is found in the priest’s consecration of the
Eucharistic gifts.40
Thomas refuses the stance of Bonaventure and perhaps others who
separate the consecration into two parallel acts, the transforming, invis-
ible work of the uncreated Word and the words of the priest.41 Aquinas
38. Cesare Giraudo disagrees with this approach and argues that the Church speaks by the
priest throughout the Eucharistic prayer, including the words of institution (so that the first type
of prayer mentioned above includes the second). Below, I will show why this position cannot hold.
See Giraudo, “‘In persona Christi’ ‘In persona Ecclesiae’: Formule eucaristiche alla luce della ‘lex
orandi’,” Rassegna Teologia 51 (2010): 189–95.
39. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 22, a. 4.
40. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 1, ad 1.
41. Bonaventure, On the Eucharist: Commentary on the Sentences, Book IV, Dist. 8–13, trans.
Junius Johnson, Dallas Medieval Texts and Translations 23 (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters, 2017), d. 10,
part 2, a. 1, q. 3.

254 Th e M i ni s te r
holds that God does not work alongside the liturgical rite but through it.
Speaking of the words of institution, Thomas says:
there is in the words of the formulae of this sacrament a created power which
causes the change to be wrought in it: an instrumental power, however, as in the
other sacraments, as was stated above [question 62, articles 3–4]. For since these
words are uttered from the person of Christ, it is from His command that they
receive their instrumental power from Christ, just as his other deeds and sayings
have their salutary power instrumentally, as noted above [question 48, article 6;
question 56, article 1].42

Christ’s command at the Last Supper to “do this” in his memory includes
a promise that his power will be active in the Eucharistic liturgy. Ambrose
explained the change of the Eucharistic gifts by appealing to the creative
power of Christ’s words. At the beginning of the quotation above, Thom-
as seems to extend Ambrose’s insight. The words of consecration partici-
pate in the r­ e-creative power of God’s word. The same power that was ac-
tive in Jesus’ human words and gestures at the Last Supper remains active
today.43
Aquinas later locates this power in the signification. Evidently, the lat-
ter is actualized through particular ritual words and deeds, but the words
themselves have no magical force.44 Rather, they are powerful only in-
sofar as they signify. The signification is fruitful because Christ (and the
minister who acts in his person) signifies by the power of his divine na-
ture. The liturgical words are the means to signify Christ’s saving deed.
The Lord’s creative word primarily acts in the communication of mean-
ing, not via physical sounds floating in the air.
When Aquinas directly treats the question of the minister of this sac-
rament, he begins with the consecration. That is, the priest’s action in the
liturgy manifests his being.
this sacrament [of the Eucharist] is of such dignity that it is confected only in the
person of Christ. Now whoever does something in the person of another, must
have a power conceded from the other . . . when the priest is ordained, a power is
conferred to him to consecrate this sacrament in the person of Christ; for in this

42. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 4.

43. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 1, ad 1.
44. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 78, a. 4, ad 3.

Th e M i ni s t er 255
way is he placed in the position of those to whom it was said by the Lord: “Do
this in memory of me.”45

To confect means to consecrate. Within the sacramental order, where

words and gestures share instrumentally in Christ’s sanctifying power,
the phrases “This is my body . . . this is my blood,” bear a spiritual power.
But how can one utter these words in the ­first-person singular? How can
one speak in Christ’s voice and spiritually effect his body and blood? It is
only if one has received authority and the instrumental power to speak
as Christ does. The term “power” refers to the priest’s unique relation,
as minister and instrument, to Christ. We need to understand “power”
in the biblical and philosophical sense (as in Jesus’ power to heal), and
not the usual political sense that the word has today. The priest has been
changed so as to render a new service to the mystical body. Unlike bap-
tism, where the words and gestures alone bear an instrumental spiritual
power, the consecration comes about by (1) the spiritual power of words
and deeds (the means of signification), and by (2) an instrumental power
given to the minister.46 The last element follows from the unique form
of the consecratory words: the presider who says “This is my body” and
thereby brings Christ’s body unto the altar must be united to Jesus in a
unique way. Thus, in the consecration, we have two instruments: the pow-
er to act in the name of Christ (which the priest received at ordination),
and the power of the Lord’s words (joined to the priest’s intention). We
have a stable power and a passing power. Christ acts through both instru-
ments, one joined to the other. Now because of its instrumental status,
the priest’s power is actualized by Christ and stands in complete depen-
dence on Christ.47 That is, because Christ is intensely active as principal
cause, the priest’s act of consecrating can and does instrumentally effect
the change of the gifts on the altar. Christ and his minister act together
to produce a single effect: bread and wine substance are converted into
the body and blood. The effect comes wholly from Christ and wholly
from the minister. Each retains his own operation: the voice is the min-

45. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 1.

46. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 1, ad 1.
47. Bruce D. Marshall, “The Whole Mystery of Our Salvation: Saint Thomas Aquinas on the
Eucharist as Sacrifice,” in Rediscovering Aquinas and the Sacraments: Studies in Sacramental Theol-
ogy, ed. Michael Dauphinais and Matthew Levering (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2009), 59–62.

256 Th e M i ni s te r
ister’s, the gesture and the intention he formulates to celebrate Mass are
his, while the principal (and thus sufficient) power to change the gifts is
Christ’s.
We have just linked the mystery of the Incarnation with the mystery
of the priest as Eucharistic celebrant. We now look to another connec-
tion, that of the priest and the mystery of the Church. This helps us to
contemplate anew another aspect of the saving economy.

The Instrumentality of the Priest:

Acting in persona Ecclesiae
In the consecration, we ponder Christ’s and the priest’s downward medi-
ation whereby the gifts of Jesus’ body and blood are brought to us. Here,
a sacrament is completed, in which the Father brings his Son and a share
in divine life to his people, two gifts that enable us in turn to make an of-
fering to him and to give him right worship. In the rest of the Eucharistic
prayer, we especially ponder Christ’s and the priest’s upward mediation,
as they offer the people’s praise and thanksgiving, adoration and interces-
sion to the Father, together with the body and blood of the victim. In the
consecration, the priest acts in the person of Christ, but elsewhere in the
Eucharistic prayer, he acts in the person of the Church.48 By his ordina-
tion, the priest has been conformed to Christ the head. When he abides
in communion with the Church through faith and in unity with the pope
and bishops, the priest can act with her, such that his liturgical acts are si­-
multaneously the Church’s acts. Unity with the pope and bishops involves
the concrete realization of ecclesial communion. The Eucharistic prayers
mention communion with the pope and bishops, for this is one condition
for offering sacrifice in the name of the Church. There is a deputation,
but not so as to act in place of Christ or the Church. Rather, the priest
celebrates in Christ the head and with Jesus’ members. Behind this vision
stands a patristic and medieval notion of representation.49 Christ and
the Church act through the minister in unique ways: (1) Jesus as a meta-
physical cause directly moves the priest to realize the sacrament, and
(2) the Church as a moral cause, and as Christ’s mystical body, offers to the
48. Bernard Dominique Marliangeas, Clés pour une théologie du ministère: In persona Christi,
in persona Ecclesiae, Théologie historique 51 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1978), 131.
49. Marliangeas, Clés pour une théologie du ministère, 128, 138.

Th e M i n i s t er 257
Father the sacrifice of her head.50 The petitions offered to God in the Eu-
charistic prayer are accepted by him as coming from the whole Church.51
She supplies what is lacking in the minister’s faith and holiness.52 This
theological principle explains (1) how the Mass of a schismatic priest can
have the substantial presence of Christ’s body and blood, though it can-
not constitute an offering pleasing to the Father, and (2) how the liturgi-
cal prayers of a weak priest can be as fruitful as the liturgical prayers of a
holy priest. As Thomas explains:
The prayer said at Mass can be considered in two ways. In one way, inasmuch as it
has efficacy from the devotion of the priest who is praying. And thus, there is no
doubt that the Mass of a better priest is more fruitful [than the Mass of a sinful
priest]. In another way, the prayer said at Mass [can be considered] inasmuch as
it is offered by the priest in the person of the whole Church, whose minister the
priest is. This ministry also remains in sinners, as was said above about Christ’s
ministry [being active in sinful priests when they consecrate the Eucharist].
Hence, also in this way, not only is the prayer of the sinful priest said at Mass
fruitful, but also all of his prayers which he does in the ecclesiastical offices are
fruitful, in which he bears the person of the Church. Although his private prayers
are not fruitful, according to Proverbs 28:9: “He who has turned away his ears
from hearing the law, his prayers will be an abomination.”53

J­ean-Pierre Torrell shows how Vatican II integrates and develops

Aquinas’s vision of the priest acting in the person of the Church. First, the
priest does not act in his own name. Rather, “He is just the representative,
and, in reality, it is the One he represents who acts through him, with the
qualities, the rights, and the efficaciousness that are all his own . . . it is the
entire body that is acting through him.”54 Second, there is a deep unity
between the priest’s action in the person of Christ and in the person of
the Church, so that the latter is part of the former. Third, it follows from
the previous two points that the Church is the true subject of the liturgi-
cal act.55 The liturgy is “an action of Christ the priest and of his body.”56
50. Christ is an efficient cause of transubstantiation, and the Church’s moral causality is a kind
of final causality.
51. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 7, ad 3.
52. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 64, a. 9, ad 1.
53. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 6.
54. Torrell, A Priestly People, 148.
55. Torrell, A Priestly People, 148–49.
56. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 7.

258 Th e M ini s te r
Here, the notion of representation is key: we need to explore it further,
especially with regard to the question of the priest’s gender.

Representing Christ and the Church

In the liturgy, to act in the person of another is also to represent him. The
former notion highlights a metaphysical link with another, while the lat-
ter theme highlights a relation by signification: the two are, in fact, in-
separable. The Eucharistic celebrant represents Christ and the Church.
The minister primarily represents Christ at the consecration (where the
sacrament is realized, as God’s gift to us), and he primarily represents the
Church during the rest of the Eucharistic prayer (where the consecrated
gift is given back to the Father in sacrifice, our gift to him). This claim is
disputed, so we need to see why this is the case. Among other things, it
pertains directly to the issue of the male priesthood.
First, at the consecration, the priest does not simply quote Christ, for
he is more than an ambassador who speaks in the place of another. In the
liturgical readings, we also quote Christ, so the minister’s act of speaking
at the consecration must involve more than an act of quotation.57 In ad-
dition, the priest needs to apply these words to the gifts on the altar. For
as a quote, Christ’s words pertain only to the gifts in his hands at the Last
Supper two thousand years ago. But the priest prays the words as pertain-
ing to the gifts in his hands today. Aquinas calls this “praying by mode
of signification” and not just by mode of recitation.58 Also, the priest’s
function is not simply to repeat someone else’s words, but to speak as a
free, rational individual, with the intention of celebrating according to
the Church’s intention, in imitation of Jesus at the Last Supper. The priest
images Christ himself in a way that befits our dignity as beings created in
God’s image, with reason and freedom.
Second, at the consecration, the priest utters words that belong to
Christ, and not to the Church. For if the Church were the primary sub-
ject speaking at the consecration, then in saying “This is my body,” the
57. Sara Butler, “In Persona Christi: A Response to Dennis M. Ferrara,” Theological Studies 56
(1995): 69–76.
58. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Sentences, bk. 4, d. 8, q. 2, a. 1, quaestincula 4, ad 4,
in Commentary on the Sentences, Book IV, Distinctions 1–13, trans. Beth Mortensen, Latin/English
Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 7 (Green Bay, Wisc.: Aquinas Institute, 2017); Sum-
ma theologiae III, q. 78, a. 5; Butler, “In Persona Christi: A Response,” 71–72.

Th e M i ni s t er 259
minister’s words would no longer be true, since the Church’s body and
blood are not on the altar, except by mode of sign.59 The Church has a
corporeal body insofar as her members have bodies, and our bodies en-
livened by grace are not on the altar, they are in the pews or next to the
altar. It is true that the consecrated hosts and cup signify the Church, but
the gifts identified at the consecration are not the corporeal presence of
the Church. Rather, the gifts on the altar signify and substantially con-
tain Christ’s body, while the same gifts signify the Church and her unity,
through the many grains joined in one host, and many grapes joined in
one cup.
Third, during the consecration, the priest represents Christ at the
Last Supper speaking to the apostles, who represent the twelve tribes of
Israel. So, in a way, the priest represents Christ speaking to the whole
Church. Thus, when the celebrant says “This is my body,” he represents
Christ speaking to the Church as distinct from him. It is not Christ and
the Church who together say, “This is my body.” Rather, by these words,
Christ addresses the Church (represented at the Last Supper by the apos-
tles). Now if the priest represents Christ speaking to the Church, then
he represents Christ the head speaking to the mystical body, the ecclesial
body, which is represented by all those present at Mass. Indeed, Vatican
II’s Presbyterorum Ordinis states that, by his priestly ordination, the priest
acts in the person of Christ the head. But this implies that he acts as dis-
tinct from the mystical body.60
This doctrine leads directly to another: at Mass, the priest represents
Christ the bridegroom. The images of head and bridegroom are closely
linked, as we see in St. Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians:
For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is head of the Church, his body. . . .
Husbands love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her
. . . no man ever hates his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, as Christ does
the church, because we are members of his body (Eph 5:23, 25, 29–30).

Christian marriage involves a relation of love to another as to one’s own

flesh, because of the charity by which Christ the head loves his own

59. Guy Mansini, “Representation and Agency in the Eucharist,” in The Word Has Dwelt
among Us: Explorations in Theology (Naples, Fla.: Sapientia Press, 2008), 148.
60. Presbyterorum Ordinis, no. 2.

260 Th e M ini s te r
mystical body. In the case of Jesus, this relation leads to his complete
­self-offering for his spouse, even unto death. On the Cross, Christ gave
himself up for the Church, offering up his body for her. More than any-
where else, this s­elf-offering is symbolized in the consecration, where
Christ’s body and blood are separated in sign, thus making the sacrifice
of the Cross present. Here, at Mass, the speaker is Christ in his act of
­self-giving at the Last Supper, which in turn signifies the gift of his life on
the Cross. At the Last Supper, Jesus spoke to the Church, saying: “This is
my body, which will be given up for you.” The priest symbolizes this act.
Also, the Eucharist and all the sacraments ensure the spiritual fruitfulness
of the Church, which is the finality of Christ’s mystical marriage to his ec-
clesial bride. Hence, the Eucharist as the greatest sacrament is celebrated
by one who represents Christ as bridegroom, the one who fructifies the
Church.61 The Mass is filled with spousal imagery. At the Cross, Christ
the Bridegroom offered his body for his mystical Bride. Albertus Magnus
gives us a marvelous image of Jesus at the Last Supper: “For he held him-
self in his hands, and he fed his intimate friends with himself and so, as if
inebriated by their sweetness and charity, has nothing of himself in which
his most beloved will not share.”62 At Mass, the Cross is made present,
and the Bridegroom offers to the Church his very own body to eat, thus
renewing their corporeal union, the consummation of their mystical mar-
riage, the union of their very bodies.
The images of spousal union and the fruitfulness of Christ’s sacri-
fice for his bride come together in the eschatological aspect of the Mass:
Christ’s mystical marriage is an invisible reality that is signified in the
Mass, so that the Eucharistic liturgy is a participation in the wedding feast

61. Alejandro Blas Miquel Ciarrochi, “Sponsus Ecclesiae, sicut Christus: Sobre il simbolismo
nupcial del sacerdote dese Hugo de San Víctor hasta Santo Tomás de Aquino” (Dissertation, John
Paul II Pontifical Institute for the Study of Marriage and Family, Pontifical Lateran University,
2015), 310, 320.
62. Albertus Magnus, On the Body of the Lord, trans. Albert Marie Surmanski, The Fathers of
the Church: Mediaeval Continuation 17 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 2017), d. 1, chap. 3, 51. In his biblical commentaries, Albert presents the figures of the apos-
tles, as well as every person’s friendship with Christ, through the lens of bridal mysticism. For his
treatment of the apostles, see Albert’s comments on Matthew 4:20 in his Super Matthaeum, Capit-
ula ­I-XIV, ed. Bernhard Schmidt, Cologne Edition 21.1 (Münster, Germany: Aschendorff Verlag,
1987), chap. 4, p. 97b. On friendship with Christ, see Albert’s exposition of John 21:7–9 in his
Enarrationes in Joannem, Borgnet Edition 24 (Paris, 1899), 704b–706a.

Th e M i ni s t er 261
of the Lamb, the celestial liturgy that has already begun.63 To signify
this marriage, the priest represents Christ to the Church as a living sign.
Here, the importance of the Son of God choosing to become man and
not woman emerges. We thus also see the importance of the male priest-
hood.64 One might be tempted to say: “But it is only a sign.” Indeed, it
is a sign, and therefore, everything depends on it! Thus, we need a man
to represent Christ as bridegroom: we need a male priesthood. Without
it, we would have Christ as Bride speaking to the Bride, which simply de-
stroys the spousal imagery. The doctrine of the male priesthood and mar-
riage as a union of man and woman go together. By consummating her
mystical marriage again with Christ in corporeal, Eucharistic union, the
Church becomes fruitful, bringing to life new children, adopted sons and
daughters of the Heavenly Father. A Church with female priests would be
unable to signify its dependence on Christ her head. In the realm of grace,
what is not signified is lost. This logic transcends the question of egali-
tarianism, for in the sacramental order, equality does not entail identical
functions, as we also see in marriage and family life.
It turns out that nuptiality and headship are interchangeable. The
priest shares in Christ’s nuptial relation to the Church: representation fol-
lows upon the priest’s metaphysical conformity to Christ the High Priest,
to Christ as Bridegroom, which occurs at priestly ordination. The bish-
op shares in the spousal relation to the Church even more than does the
priest: this is signified by his Episcopal ring, a sign of mystical espousal.65

The Celebrant’s Relation to the People

The previous considerations remain incomplete, for they risk giving the
impression that the Eucharistic celebrant’s main function is simply to
do something on behalf of the people, as if he acted without them. But
Vatican II’s teaching on the liturgy and priesthood recovered a broader
patristic vision of Eucharistic celebration that integrates more clearly the
actions of priest and people. This vision complements well our study of
63. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 8.
64. Guy Mansini and Lawrence Welch, “The Durable Synthesis of Presbyterorum Ordinis,”
241–45, in The Word Has Dwelt among Us: Explorations in Theology, by Guy Mansini (Naples, Fla.:
Sapientia Press, 2008), 213–56.
65. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Sentences, bk. 4, d. 24, q. 3, a. 2, quaestincula 1, ad 3;
q. 3, a. 3c; Summa theologiae III, q. 8, a. 6, ad 3; Miquel Ciarrochi, Sponsus Ecclesiae, 310–11, 327, 334.

262 Th e M i ni s te r
Eucharistic sacrifice and the essential role for the Church’s offering of love
to receive the fruits of the Cross.
The priestly ministry is intimately related to the common priesthood
of believers. In Vatican II’s Decree on the Ministry and Life of Priests, we
read:
Since they share in the function of the apostles in their own degree, priests are
given the grace by God to be the ministers of Jesus Christ among the nations,
fulfilling the sacred task of the Gospel, that the oblation of the gentiles may be
acceptable and sanctified in the Holy Spirit. For it is by the apostolic herald of
the Gospel that the People of God is called together and gathered so that all who
belong to this people, sanctified as they are by the Holy Spirit, may offer them-
selves “a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God” (Romans 12:1). Through
the ministry of priests the spiritual sacrifice of the faithful is completed in union
with the sacrifice of Christ the only mediator, which in the Eucharist is offered
through the priests’ hands in the name of the whole Church in an ­un-bloody and
sacramental manner. . . . For their ministration, which begins with the announce-
ment of the Gospel, draws its force and power from the sacrifice of Christ and
tends to this.66

The preaching and teaching of the bishops and priests guide believers to
order their lives, so as to progress in the imitation of Christ, that is, in
the whole life of virtue, especially charity. All virtuous acts done in grace
already please God (including the good deeds of those who have implicit
faith, and dwell beyond the bounds of the visible Church), but these acts
become part of the perfect sacrifice when believers intentionally join their
daily good deeds and sufferings to the offering of Christ on the altar. The
priest is far more than a person ordained to say Mass, for he is also sent to
assist the bishop in his prophetic and royal office of shepherding, whose
finality is to lead the pilgrim people of God toward greater holiness.67
Paragraph 10 of Lumen Gentium teaches that the ministerial and
common priesthood of believers are ordered to one another. That is, the

66. Presbyterorum Ordinis, no. 2.

67. Damien Logue helpfully reads Presbyterorum Ordinis (nos. 4 and 13) to teach that the
priest’s first role (in the order of generation) is preaching, but its purpose is the perfect spiritual
sacrifice of believers, so that the priest’s primary role (in the metaphysical order) is the celebration
of the Eucharist. See Logue, “Le premier et le principal du sacrement de l’ordre,” in Questions dispu-
tées autour du sacrement de l’ordre, ed. ­Philippe-Marie Margelidon, Sed Contra (Perpignan, France:
Artège Lethielleux 2018), 111.

Th e M i ni s t er 263
minister’s identity is to serve the people, whom he leads and forms to offer
pleasing sacrifice, while the people exercise their royal priesthood in their
whole life, as they bring the Gospel to the world and join in the Eucha-
ristic sacrifice, by offering themselves and Christ’s body and blood to the
Father with and through the priest. Lumen Gentium adds that their mode
of offering is distinct from the priest’s.68 There are two ways of participat-
ing in Christ’s priesthood; such a distinction is not a question of higher or
lower, but of diverse modes of sharing in Christ’s priestly activity.69
Vatican II’s teaching on the active, conscious participation of the
faithful at Mass finds a direct link with the union of their spiritual sacri-
fices and the offering of Christ’s body and blood. That is, the faithful are
not passive recipients of an offering made by the priest alone. Rather, they
offer themselves and their secular activities, join their minds and hearts
to the priest’s prayer, and manifest their participation in the sacrifice by
making the responses, which also signify their participation in the sac-
rifice.70 In the Old Testament, the whole people offer sacrifice to God
by the minister. We might also recall Augustine’s vision of the Eucharist,
where the head is not offered without the members.71 This joint offering
is signified by the presence and participation of the people. Hence a “pri-
vate Mass” without an acolyte remains an exception, for while it is a true
offering (as the priest acts in the person of Christ and of the Church), the
people are not adequately represented. We might also note that a Mass
with only a priest and acolyte enjoys a venerable tradition in the West.
The presence of other members of the community is not essential for rep-
resentation, since the acolyte represents the Church, and not a local com-
munity. The Mass is the sacrifice of the whole Church, and not one group
within the Church.
Presbyterorum Ordinis, number 2, teaches that bishops and priests en-
act their entire ministry in the person of Christ the head. That is, while
such action finds its preeminent form in the sacraments, it is not limited
to that realm. This doctrinal development of Vatican II, taken together
68. Lumen Gentium, no. 11.
69. Torrell, A Priestly People, 140–41. For a fuller (and excellent) study of the common priest-
hood of the faithful and their sacrificial acts, see Lawrence Feingold, The Eucharist: Mystery of Pres-
ence, Sacrifice and Communion (Steubenville, Ohio: Emmaus Academic, 2018), chap. 11.
70. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 14; Lumen Gentium, no. 34; Presbyterorum Ordinis, no. 5.
71. Augustine, City of God, bk. 10, chap. 6; Feingold, The Eucharist, 411, 415.

264 Th e M ini s te r
with our previous considerations on the relation of priest and people,
leads to the following insight: the idea that a priest would leave the deci-
sion of a person’s worthiness or proper disposition for communion solely
to the discretion of the individual’s conscience (and so withhold the ap-
plication of the Church’s established moral tradition and sacramental dis-
cipline) ultimately turns Vatican II’s teaching on the presbyterate upside
down.72 For it essentially nullifies the priest’s ministry of prophet and
shepherd in the person of Christ the head, so that a member of the body
acts alone on a matter directly pertaining to his or her manner of sharing
in the Church’s worship. This approach reduces the priest to a sacramen-
tal minister, thus creating the very division in the priest’s ministerial life
that Vatican II sought to avoid. It also negates the ancient tradition that
the presider at Eucharist governs (or shares in the governance of ) the as-
sembly. Furthermore, a bishop who decides to leave such decisions solely
to the individual’s conscience does not act as shepherd but abdicates part
of his own exercise of the royal office. Here, the stakes are high.

Concelebration
Many questions surround the contemporary practice of concelebration.
What is its spiritual value? Should individual Masses be preferred? If
many priests are present, is it best for one to celebrate while other priests
simply attend Mass and not celebrate that day? What did Vatican II call
for?
The practice of Eucharistic concelebration can be found in various
witnesses of the ancient Church, starting with Ignatius of Antioch and
Hippolytus of Rome (third century). Among the ancient testimonies, we
consistently find a reference to priests celebrating with their bishop, so
that the entire local Church gathered in a single liturgical act. This act
expresses and actualizes the collegial nature of the priesthood, and the
priests’ union with their bishop. There are many gaps in the historical da-
ta.73 However, we find no clear evidence of a widespread ancient practice
72. The Church’s sacramental discipline has never been primarily guided by the individual’s
conscience, since this privatizes the sacraments, which are by their nature public acts, acts that
manifest the Church’s faith and moral convictions about the essential aspects of the following of
Christ. Here, Paul’s pastoral instructions in 1 Corinthians are an essential guide.
73. P. Tihon, “De la concélébration eucharistique,” Nouvelle revue théologique 86 (1964):
580–89.

Th e M i ni s t er 265
of frequent concelebration of priests without their bishop. Also, the an-
cient Church did not reflect extensively on the fruits of the Eucharistic
sacrifice, which is ultimately crucial for the doctrine and practice of con-
celebration. The east never ceased the practice of concelebration, a prac-
tice that must be respected.
The majority of theologians and liturgists agree that a concelebrated
Mass remains a single sacrifice, regardless of the number of concelebrants.
It is not many Masses. For the ancient east, this doctrine follows from the
purpose of concelebration: one altar, one sacrifice, one shared act of cele-
brating to manifest the unity of the celebrants. Leading t­ wentieth-century
scholars of liturgy such as Lambert Beauduin and Bernard Botte main-
tain that this doctrine still holds.74 Leading theologians who promote
the frequent use of concelebration (e.g., Karl Rahner) as well as theolo-
gians who critique the newer practice (e.g., Joseph de S­ ainte-Marie) agree
with this judgment.75 It is also the judgment of the Sacred Congregation
of Rites in its 1965 decree Ecclesiae semper, which speaks of the concele-
brants making the offering by one sacramental act.76 No magisterial text
published since then contradicts this position. Nor has any convincing
theological argument been made that there are as many sacrifices as there
are concelebrants.
Ecclesiae semper presupposes the teaching of Pius XII, who in turn
summarized a longstanding theological consensus. The basic principle
articulated by Pius XII is as follows: each Mass is a distinct sacramental
representation of the Cross, and thus a distinct application, here and now,
of the fruits of the Cross to the Church. In a 1954 discourse, Pius XII
noted that in each Mass, Christ acts anew by the celebrating priest (a doc-
trine rooted in the practice of saying several Masses for a single intention,
a custom followed by Gregory the Great and countless priest saints after

74. Lambert Beauduin, “La concélébration,” La maison de Dieu 7, no. 3 (1946): 7–26; Bernard
Botte, “Note historique sur la concélébration dans l’église ancienne,” La maison de Dieu 35, no. 3
(1953): 13.
75. Karl Rahner, Die vielen Messen und das eine Opfer: Versionen 1949/1951 & 1966, Sämtliche
Werke 18: Leiblichkeit der Gnade, Schriften zur Sakramentenlehre (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder,
2003); Joseph de ­Sainte-Marie, The Holy Eucharist, The World’s Salvation: Studies on the Holy Sac-
rifice of the Mass, Its Celebration and Its Concelebration, (Leominster, England: Gracewing, 2015),
chaps. 1–3.
76. Sacred Congregation of Rites, Ecclesiae semper, March 7, 1965, AAS 57 (1965), 410–12.

266 Th e M ini s te r
him).77 That is, Christ’s act of s­ elf-offering becomes present now. Hence,
this act has a different value from a priest’s devout attendance at Mass
(contrary to a theory promoted by Rahner).78 In a 1956 discourse, Pius
XII explains that, in a concelebrated Mass, Christ simply acts through
many ministers, who act as one.79 This implies that the number of sac-
rifices is not multiplied, for in a single Eucharistic liturgy, Christ acts as
one through many instruments. Given this implication, it follows that the
concelebrants truly consecrate and offer the sacrifice, but they accomplish
one sacramental sacrifice, not many. Distinct Masses multiply the pres-
ence to us of Christ’s sacrificial act. But in a single Mass, only one such
act is made present, either via one minister or via several. Ecclesia semper
and subsequent magisterial texts are wholly in line with this reading of
Pius XII’s 1956 address.80
The notion of Christ’s performing a single act through the concele-
brants is explicitly sustained by Aquinas. Like Innocent III, he held that
the concelebrants consecrate the host together, in opposition to the idea
that only the principal celebrant consecrates.81 In other words, there is a
single act of making the victim present on the altar (by the separate con-
secration of bread and wine into the body and blood). After the conse-
cration of the cup is completed, a single perfect offering is made by all the
concelebrants (and by the people through them). The concelebrants then
commune in the same sacramental victim. We see that the act of conse-
crating is one, the act of offering is one, and the act of the priests uniting
themselves with the victim on behalf of the Church remains one, for they

77. Pius XII, “Allocutio, November 2, 1954,” AAS 46 (1954), 669.

78. Rudolf Michael Schmitz, “La concelebrazione eucaristica,” in Il mistero eucaristico, ed. An-
tonio Piolanti, Pontificia Accademia Teologica Romana (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana,
1983), 502.
79. Pius XII, “Address, September 22, 1956,” AAS 48 (1956), 717–18.
80. Joseph de S­ ainte-Marie, The Holy Eucharist, The World’s Salvation, 6–12, 16–20. Paul Tirot
argues that Pius XII and Ecclesia semper imply a virtual multiplicity of sacrificial offerings within
the single sacramental offering of the concelebrants, an implication that is not clearly in the texts.
Also, the standard reading of Aquinas sees one sacrifice that is wholly offered by each concelebrant,
just as each concelebrant instrumentally operates the whole consecration, without multiplying sac-
rifices. That reading may well stand behind Pius XII’s address. See Paul Tirot, “La concélébration et
la tradition de l’Église,” Ephemerides liturgicae 101 (1987): 50–52.
81. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 82, a. 2. The issue was debated in the thirteenth
century. For example, Albert the Great took the opposite position in his On the Body of the Lord,
d. 6, tractate 4, chap. 2.

Th e M i n i s t er 267
partake in the victim jointly made present and jointly offered. In other
words, there is no sufficient element in the ritual to multiply sacrificial
acts. Francisco Suárez and his disciples sought to find such an element by
appealing to the priest’s intention, but this argument falls short, since a
sacramental act is both interior and exterior.82
At Mass, Christ celebrates through the priest, and this impedes us
from placing neat limits on the fruitfulness of any one Mass. Yet the
Church does not receive infinite fruits from a single Mass, since we al-
ways bring particular intentions to Mass, and those fruits are poured out
according to the fervor of devotion present in the Church militant (the
receptivity of the Church’s heart). Jesus’ sacrifice was completed on the
Cross, and he has saved the world, yet the spiritual effects of the Passion
are applied or realized in particular circumstances by our participation
therein. At Mass, our exterior, sacramental sacrificial act is the instrument
whereby Christ acts, and the interior offering of love the means by which
we receive his action. The fruits of the Passion are also distributed in the
world by countless other instruments, from fasting and corporal acts of
mercy to holy hours. As the instruments multiply, so do the fruits.83
Now because the received fruits of a single Mass cannot be clearly lim-
ited and are abundant, the Church remains free to allow concelebrants to
accept a stipend and a particular intention for their sacerdotal participa-
tion in the Mass. We cannot precisely measure grace. And yet, we know
that grace has degrees of abundance: a fervent Our Father brings fewer
blessings than a whole vespers service celebrated with the same fervor.
Thus, we can say that two Masses bring greater fruit than one Mass, with-
out knowing precisely how much greater.84 At the same time, we need
to remember the different ecclesiology of the east, which has supported
the continued practice of concelebration, and thus not rush to identify
a medieval and modern Latin liturgical practice as inherently superior to
that of the east.
Vatican II honors the ancient practice of concelebration as a sign of
82. Joseph de ­Sainte-Marie, The Holy Eucharist, The World’s Salvation, 46–47.
83. Here, it is good to recall the Calvary is not a potential sacrifice that is then actualized by
the Mass, but rather a sacrifice whose power is always actual in the world via many instruments and
intermediaries.
84. For the canonical aspects of concelebration and Mass stipends, see Guillaume Derville,
Eucharistic Concelebration: From Symbol to Reality (Montreal, Canada: Wilson & Lafleur, 2011).

268 Th e M i ni s te r
the unity of the priesthood and called for its reintroduction. Sacrosanc-
tum Concilium mentions a few particular circumstances in which concel-
ebration is desirable (such as the Chrism Mass and Holy Thursday Mass)
and leaves other applications to the judgment of the ordinary.85 The same
text notes that each priest retains the right to celebrate Mass individu-
ally. The decree Ecclesiae semper was issued to implement Sacrosanctum
Concilium. The decree notes that two characteristics—(1) the unity of the
priesthood and (2) the Mass as the action of the whole people of God—
are better manifested in concelebrated Masses than in Masses celebrated
by a single priest. The document favors a greater use of concelebration,
without precision.
No conciliar or p­ ost-conciliar magisterial document proposes an al-
ternative to the theology of the fruits of the Mass summarized above. In
fact, the main alternative was offered by Karl Rahner in his influential
work, The Many Masses and the One Sacrifice, first published in 1949 and
revised with Rahner’s approval by his disciple Angelus Häussling in 1966.
The earlier editions of the work render the relation of Christ’s sacrificial
act to the priest’s act ambiguous. The book’s second edition reduces the
priest’s ritual act to a mere sign. That is, for Rahner, each Mass is only a
symbol of Christ’s sacrifice, and the priest’s act constitutes no new appli-
cation or making present of that sacrifice. The only element that deter-
mines the reception of the fruits of Calvary today is the devotion elicited
by the Mass. Rahner seems to focus or even limit that devotion to those
physically present at Mass. He thus makes two radical claims: (1) he sep-
arates Christ’s sacrificial act from the priest’s ritual act, and (2) he makes
the number of Masses celebrated irrelevant, except insofar as they elevate
devotion (apparently, of those attending).86 The first claim is hard to rec-
oncile with Trent and contradicts Pius XII. The second claim renders the
common western medieval and modern practice of saying many Masses
for one intention superfluous. Here, we have a rupture with the lex ordan-
di, a way of praying that goes back at least to Gregory the Great.
Let us specify what devotion does not mean: it is not a feeling of
fervor or experience of dedication to God. Devotion is a disposition or

85. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 57.

86. Rahner, Die vielen Messen und das eine Opfer, 115, 129, 137–41 (1966 edition); Schmitz, “La
concelebrazione eucaristica,” 514–15.

Th e M i n i s t er 269
act of the will, and, like charity, it is hard to measure. Its intensity can be
glimpsed indirectly, with probability, over time, in the context of a rich
sacramental life. Rahner recommends that a priest attend another’s Mass
instead of celebrating an individual Mass, if this helps his devotion. But
how can the priest easily determine his progress in devotion?
The challenge today is to honor the place of concelebration in the
Church, for it is a venerable ancient tradition, as well as the lex orandi
proper to the west. The principle of lex orandi does not simply apply to
eastern liturgies, or only to ancient liturgies and ­post-Vatican II western
liturgies, but to the whole of the tradition. In other words, we should
strive to maximize both the rite’s representative function and the fruits
of the sacrifice. That is, in some contexts, concelebration is most appro-
priate, yet daily concelebration (especially without one’s bishop) seems
hard to justify.87 Other factors need to be kept in mind in the quest for
the right liturgical practice. On the one hand, the decision not to concel-
ebrate usually means celebrating an individual Mass, with or without a
server. When no server is present, the character of the Mass as the paschal
banquet is not signified as well. On the other hand, daily concelebration
may well diminish the priest’s awareness of his sacrificial role, as his rit-
ual prayer and gestures are minimized. The priest should be attentive to
how concelebration or individual Masses foster his reverence for the body
and blood and his sense of awe before the sacred ritual. Other questions
should be asked. Do concelebrants say their vesting prayers and make oth-
er acts of spiritual preparation before Mass? Does the priest rush through
his “private Mass”? Does the concelebrated Mass have greater solemnity
(such as singing), which fosters reverence? The practice of concelebration
deserves greater theological reflection.

87. The case of religious communities seems more complex, especially Sunday Masses and spe-
cial community feasts or vows celebrations, where the shared Eucharistic offering by all the mem-
bers of the community becomes a most fitting sign.

270 Th e M ini s te r
E u c h a r i st ic C om m union
E u c h a r i st ic C om m union
Ch a p t e r 9

}
EUCHARISTIC
COMMUNION

The finality of Christ’s substantial presence in the Eucharist is our com-

munion with him. He gives himself so that we may be united with him,
our body and soul to his humanity and divinity. The Eucharist is our share
in the heavenly wedding banquet, a participation in the saints’ perfect
worship of the victorious Lamb and spousal union with the Bridegroom.
Communion has been at the center of several intense ecclesial debates
in recent years. To enter into these questions fruitfully, we need not only
the biblical data and witness of tradition, but a clear sense of how to em-
ploy these sources. For this reason, I begin with some hermeneutical tools
for a theology of Eucharistic communion. Thence, I move to a study of
Scripture and the witness of the early Church. The systematic section that
follows will have Aquinas as guide, for he integrates in a clear and thor-
ough way the riches of biblical and patristic teaching on communion.1
Finally, I turn to a more direct treatment of today’s disputed questions.
1. ­Jean-Marie Roger Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, Unam sanctam 4 (Paris: Cerf,
1964), 155–56.

271
Hermeneutical Principles for a Theology
of Communion
Some of the dividing lines in the contemporary debate on Eucharistic
communion derive from very different uses of Scripture and tradition in
theological arguments. Unless we have a clear and ­well-grounded herme-
neutic, the rest of our theology will remain shaky.
First, the more explicitly Eucharistic biblical texts have priority in
theological and pastoral considerations and should guide our reading of
the less explicitly Eucharistic texts. For example, at the Last Supper, Jesus
gives to his apostles his body to eat and his blood to drink. That is, the
Eucharist is for his disciples, meaning, those who confess Jesus. The image
of Jesus’ table fellowship with sinners who have not yet confessed their
faith in Christ need not signify that the Eucharist is for ­non-believers or
sinners, for in the Gospel stories about Jesus eating with sinners, the Eu-
charistic reference is less clear. As Ådna Jostein states: “The Last Supper
is not a continuation of the table fellowship with ‘tax collectors’ and ‘sin-
ners’, but a meal with a completely different focus.”2
This leads us to a second principle of interpretation: prophecies or fig-
ures of the Eucharist remain partial in their pedagogical value. Take the
manna, which all the Israelites in the desert ate each day. This miracle is
a figure of the Eucharist. Yet this does not mean that all Christians must
eat the Eucharist each day. Rather, the manna signifies that the Eucharist
is essential food for the pilgrimage through life and should be received
frequently.
Third, whatever theology of communion we derive from Scripture,
it must account for all of Scripture, and not contradict any part thereof.
The doctrine of biblical inspiration prevents us from playing one “biblical
theology” off against another in dialectical fashion.
Fourth, we read Scripture through the lens of the Church Fathers and

2. Ådna Jostein, “Jesus’ Meals and Table Companions,” in The Eucharist: Its Origins and Con-
texts: Sacred Meal, Communal Meal Table Fellowship in Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early
Christianity, vol. 1, Old Testament, Early Judaism, New Testament, ed. David Hellholm and Dieter
Sänger, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 376 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2017), 352.

272 E u c h a r i s tic C om m union

the liturgical tradition. For the latter, I refer to (a) the liturgical prayers,
and (b) the signification of liturgical acts and gestures, like eating and
drinking, (c) the symbolism of the Eucharistic elements of bread and
wine, and (d) constant liturgical practice and discipline, such as the treat-
ment of public sinners.

Scripture and the Fathers on

Eucharistic Communion
Sacramental Communion in the Bible
The theme of Eucharistic food already emerges with the image of the
manna. It is celestial food, supernatural food that no human being can
offer. The manna fell only in the desert: the miracle stopped once the Is-
raelites entered the Promised Land. The Eucharist, like other sacraments,
is for pilgrims. There is no Eucharistic communion in heaven, but simply
the contemplation of the Trinity and the Lamb. The manna was essential
sustenance to reach the Promised Land. Likewise, the Eucharist is essen-
tial to survive on the path. This strongly suggests that infrequent commu-
nion was not intended by Christ.
The perfect manna was revealed in John 6, and the same text fitting-
ly indicates several fruits of Eucharistic communion. Christ’s flesh and
blood bring the spiritual life that he wins on the Cross, and life for the
body at the Resurrection. It is like the seed of eternal life (6:51–54). John 6
also teaches that, when we eat his flesh and blood, Christ dwells in us and
we in him (6:56). This points to the intimate friendship with Christ that
the Eucharist brings about. Eucharistic communion intensifies a commu-
nion of love, a communion that is an imitation of the Father dwelling in
the Son and the Son dwelling in the Father. Hence, at the Last Supper, Je-
sus says to his disciples that they are no longer servants but friends (15:15).
The Last Supper was a Passover meal, and Christ’s celebration in the
Upper Room fulfills this central ritual of the Old Covenant. The Pass-
over ritual, including the eating of the lamb, protects God’s people from
spiritual death. It enables the Exodus from slavery to the Promised Land,
a path from the life of slavery to a life of true worship. Hence, the Eucha-
rist helps to bring about one’s gradual liberation from sin or habits of sin,

E uc h a r i stic C o mmun i o n 273

strengthening us to resist temptation, as one gains distance from spiritual
Egypt. It offers protection from evil.
The body and blood were given to the apostles, who represent the
twelve tribes of Israel. The members of God’s people eat the New Passover
Lamb. At the Last Supper, Jesus celebrated and instituted a new sacrifice
to perfect the Passover sacrifice. Like the Old Passover, the New Passover
is a sacrificial meal. Hence, those who are willing to make a sacrifice with
the Church and to partake of the sacrificial victim are called to commu-
nion.
St. Paul’s Eucharistic teaching has a strong emphasis on the unity of
the Church: “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body,
for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Cor 10:17). This is why serious sins
against one’s brothers in Christ are incompatible with a fruitful sharing
in the Eucharistic body. Sins against unity impede fruitful communion
(hence Paul’s moral exhortations), while communion intensifies the mu-
tual unity of the body’s members.
At 1 Corinthians 11:27–32, Paul exhorts his listeners to discern the
body of Christ. The one who eats Christ unworthily must answer for this
sin. Indeed, some at Corinth have fallen sick and even died because they
ate the Eucharist unworthily! Paul is likely thinking of the practice of
some rich Corinthians who excluded poorer Christians from their part
of the agape meal when the community gathered. The principle he articu-
lates is that a believer who commits a grave sin and refuses to repent com-
mits sacrilege by receiving the Eucharist.3

Eucharistic Communion in the Early Church

Ignatius of Antioch draws together Eucharistic communion, charity,
and ecclesial unity, especially unity with the bishop. In his “Letter to the
Smyrnaeans,” he notes that the Docetists fail to practice love of neighbor,
divide the Church by their disputes, and refuse to confess that the Eu-
charist is Christ’s flesh.4 The virtues opposed to each of these vices are
essential. The similarities with 1 Corinthians are evident. For Ignatius, the

3. George T. Montague, First Corinthians, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture (Grand

Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2011), 198–200. See also Hans Bernhard Meyer, Eucharistie: Ges-
chichte, Theologie, Pastoral, Gottesdienst der Kirche 4 (Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1989), 79.
4. Ignatius of Antioch, “Letter to the Smyrnaeans,” no. 7.

274 E u c h a r i s tic Com m union

Eucharist can be celebrated fruitfully only in communion with the bish-
op. Ignatius offers a teaching that will be dear to Augustine: Communion
strengthens the Church’s unity and charity, and it can be effective only if
it is received within an existing bond of ecclesial unity and charity.5
Justin Martyr is clear on the necessary disposition for communion.
And this food is called among us Eucharist, of which no one is allowed to partake
except one who believes that the things which we teach are true, and has received
the washing that is for the remission of sins and for rebirth, and who so lives as
Christ has handed down. For we do not receive these things as common bread
nor common drink.6

The Eucharist is for the baptized, those who have been formally or pub-
licly incorporated into the Church. It calls for a common faith, not just
in the person of Christ and the Eucharist, but acceptance of the Church’s
one faith (“the things which we teach”). Finally, communion presup-
poses the following of Christ, or fidelity to the moral life taught by him.
The Eucharistic teachings of Ignatius and Justin find a consistent echo
throughout the writings of the subsequent Church Fathers and ancient
liturgical practices.7
Ignatius also began a beautiful tradition of describing the Eucharist
as spiritual medicine, a source of immortality. Many Fathers, especially
in the east, will take up this theme. Cyril of Alexandria sees the medic-
inal power of the Eucharist as inseparable from its capacity to divinize.
Sins are spiritual illnesses of which we are healed. Christ already began to
teach this lesson in the Gospel, when he cured the sick via physical con-
tact: his body transmits the divine, l­ife-giving power to the sick, which
shows that our spiritual illnesses are healed by touching his Eucharistic
body.8 In the west, Ambrose of Milan presents the Eucharist as a spiritu-
al remedy for our daily sins.9
The ancient liturgical texts and patristic writings abound with refer-
5. Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, 120. I return to Augustine in the systematic section
below.
6. Justin Martyr, First Apology, chap. 66, in First and Second Apologies, ed. and trans. Leslie
William Barnard, Ancient Christian Writers 56 (New York: Paulist Press, 1997), 70.
7. For a good overview, see Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, chap. 3.
8. Cyril of Alexandria, Commentary on Luke, chap. 4, no. 38 (PG 72, 5­ 52A-C), cited in Tillard,
L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, 123–24.
9. Ambrose, The Sacraments, bk. 4, chap. 5, nos. 23–26.

E uc h ar i stic C o mmuni o n 275

ences to communion as a means to forgiveness of daily sins. The same tra-
dition draws a consistent distinction between sins that communion takes
away and those that impede healing by contact with the Eucharist. Let
us take two examples. John Chrysostom calls for a purification of con-
science before communion. He warns that he will refuse to commune
those whose unworthiness is known to him. For the unrepentant sinner,
Eucharistic food becomes like the food that a very sick stomach expels,
which renders his spiritual condition even worse.10 Chrysostom echoes 1
Corinthians. In his Tractates on John, Augustine draws a clear distinction
between grave sins and lesser sins. We are to bring our innocence to the
altar, which does not exclude bearing some sins, as long as they are not
mortal.11 Grave sins are like a virulent illnesses that must first be healed
by public reconciliation with the Church.12
We find this distinction between two types of sins operative from the
earliest ­post-biblical witnesses forward (and implied in 1 Corinthians and
1 John). Both the First Letter of Clement as well as the Didache call for
contrite confession and prayer for “indeliberate” sins, while greater sins
demand not just confession but penance and satisfaction before read-
mission to the Eucharist.13 This doctrine and practice can be found all
through the ancient Church. For example, Theodore of Mopsuestia en-
courages frequent communion for healing from our daily sins. But graver
sins call for a different medicine. In “Catechetical Homily 16,” he exhorts
grave sinners not to rely on their own judgment, but to turn to the ex-
perts (the shepherds) to obtain healing. Theodore gives examples of such
sins simply by quoting 1 Corinthians 5:11–12: “adultery, greed, idolatry,
drunkenness, an insulter, a thief.” Whoever refuses the priests’ remedies
for these sins ruptures with the Church.14
Theodore of Mopsuestia also places great emphasis on the eschato-
logical effects of Eucharistic communion. This doctrine, firmly rooted
10. John Chrysostom, On the Baptism of Christ and Epiphany, nos. 3.4–5 (PG 62, 28–30);
John Chrysostom, De Proditione Judae, Homily 1.6 (PG 49, 380–81), both cited in Tillard, L’Eu-
charistie: Pâque de l’Église, 131.
11. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, tractate 26, no. 11.
12. Augustine, “Letter 54,” cited in Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, 150.
13. 1 Clement, 2.3; Didache, 4.14, 14.1; Bernhard Poschmann, Penance and the Anointing of the
Sick, trans. Francis Courtney (New York: Herder & Herder, 1964), 24, 87–88.
14. Theodore of Mopsuestia, “Homily 16,” nos. 39, 43, in Katechetische Homilien, vol. 1, trans.
Peter Bruns. Fontes Christiani 17.1 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1994).

276 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

in John 6, enjoyed prominence from the second century forward. Igna-
tius of Antioch unfolds this theme as he speaks of the Eucharist as “the
medicine of immortality.”15 He grounds this doctrine on the gift received
in communion: the glorified flesh of Christ. Our bodies are conformed
to Christ’s risen body. For Ignatius, the Eucharist as medicine heals our
spiritual wounds, precisely to prepare us for lasting union with Christ.16
Later in the second century, Irenaeus links the Eucharist’s eschatological
fruit with the hope of resurrection that it grants. He also compares the
Eucharist to a seed that grows into a plant. Eucharistic nourishment will
raise up our bodies, restoring us to full communion with God, body and
soul.17 Cyril of Alexandria picks up on the image of the seed, and empha-
sizes that incorruptibility is the natural outcome of Christ’s flesh dwelling
in us.18 Cyril insists that intimate, corporeal union with Christ leads to
resurrection.19 In the epiclesis of Addai and Mari, the Spirit’s sanctifica-
tion is sought so that the gifts may bring hope of resurrection and life in
the heavenly kingdom. The Eucharist’s eschatological fruits emerge often
in various anaphora, both eastern and western.

A Systematic Theology of Eucharistic Communion

With the help of the biblical and patristic survey just undertaken, I now
turn to a ­theme-centered study of the particular fruits, or spiritual effects,
of communion. Aquinas has a rich doctrine of Eucharistic communion.
He will help us to ponder the deeper meaning of Scripture and the litur-
gy, and to consider several burning pastoral issues.
Aquinas’s first explanation of the effects of the Eucharist employs a
simple analogy:

15. Ignatius of Antioch, “Letter to the Ephesians,” no. 20, in The Epistles of St. Clement of Rome
and St. Ignatius of Antioch, ed. James A. Kleist, Ancient Christian Writers 1 (New York: Paulist
Press, 1978), 68.
16. Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, 188–89.
17. Irenaeus, Treatise Against Heresies, bk. 4, chap. 18, no. 5; bk. 5, chap. 2, no. 3.
18. Cyril of Alexandria, Commentary on the Gospel of John, bk. 4, chap. 2 (commenting on
John 6:54; PG 73, 581), trans. David R. Maxwell, ed. Joel C. Elowksy, Ancient Christian Texts
(Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP Academic, 2013), 238.
19. Tillard, L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église, 195.

E uc h ar i s tic C o mmun i o n 277

The effect of this sacrament ought to be considered first and indeed principal-
ly from the perspective of that which is contained in this sacrament, which is
Christ. Just as he who came into this world visibly conferred the life of grace onto
the world, according to John 1:17: “Grace and truth were made through Jesus
Christ,” so also by coming sacramentally into man causes the life of grace, accord-
ing to John 6:58 [v. 57]: “He who eats me lives forever because of me.” Hence also
Cyril says: “The vivifying Word of God, uniting himself to his own flesh, made
it vivifying. . . . Therefore, it was fitting that he would unite himself to our bodies
through his own sacred flesh and precious blood, which we receive by a vivifying
benediction, in the bread and wine.”20

The starting point of a theology of communion is not a phenomenolog-

ical analysis of eating, but a teaching of faith, the confession of Christ’s
hidden, corporeal presence in the Eucharist. Our Summa passage pre-
sumes that confession, as it employs the analogy with the Incarnation.
The Incarnation is part of the Son’s visible mission: God comes to us in
the flesh. The Logos became man and thus brought a share in divine life
to the world, to all those who believe. After the Ascension, the Logos en-
ters the world again in bodily form, through the Eucharistic gifts. Now
the most basic effect of grace is to grant a participation in eternal life.
That Christ’s Eucharistic body has this effect is itself revealed in John 6.
In each case, the divinity joined to Christ’s humanity makes his coming
­life-giving (his visible and his sacramental coming). Aquinas then cites
Cyril of Alexandria’s Commentary on Luke, which echoes Cyril’s teach-
ing on John 6. Since divine life is mediated by Christ’s body in the econ-
omy as a whole, the union of our bodies with his Eucharistic flesh and
blood becomes a most fitting means to receive a share in this life. We thus
find a solid foundation to ponder the fruits of communion, a foundation
grounded on three points: (1) the ecclesial confession of Christ’s Eucha-
ristic presence, as supported by the liturgical and patristic tradition, (2)
the Johannine teaching on the power of Christ’s flesh, and (3) a Chris-
tology rooted in the Council of Ephesus (Christ is one person or hypos-
tasis), whose dogma helps us to avoid misreading John’s bread of life dis-
course. Let us note that Aquinas’s own exposition of John 6 also makes
the Spirit’s presence in Christ’s humanity essential for that sacred human-

20. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1.

278 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

ity’s l­ife-giving power. Pneumatology has not gone missing in Thomas’s
theology of communion.21
Clearly, all of the sacraments give grace, but the Eucharist gives it in
abundance, for “what is common to all the sacraments is attributed most
of all to the Eucharist by reason of its excellence.”22 Aquinas seeks to
honor the immense spiritual power of the Eucharist, as it contains not
just Christ’s saving power but the very author of grace. In another passage,
he says that, when we simply ponder the gift contained, but in abstraction
from the recipient, “this sacrament has the power to remit any sins by the
Passion of Christ, which is the fount and cause of the remission of sins.”23
Christ’s body and blood and the power of his Passion contain the power
to forgive any sin, and yet, not all sins can be forgiven by communion.
Now Thomas has no intention of placing limits on grace. Rather, when he
insists that some benefits are not received through communion, it is out
of (1) obedience to Scripture, such as Paul’s warning about eating unwor-
thily, and (2) attentiveness to the liturgical signs. In other words, com-
munion brings boundless blessings, but as manifested by Scripture and
the signification of the sacrament. There is no generic grace that binds up
any and every spiritual wound. The graces attained via communion can be
discovered by contemplating (1) the gift received, (2) the mode of receiv-
ing it, and (3) the spiritual state of the recipient. Having just pondered the
first of these elements, I now take up the second and third.
Aquinas considers the mode of receiving the sacrament of the Eucha-
rist in a text that follows shortly after the passage quoted above on the
Incarnation:
the effect of this sacrament is considered from the mode by which this sacrament
is passed on, which is by way of food and drink. And so, every effect which ma-
terial food and drink brings about in corporeal life, namely that it sustains, aug-
ments, repairs and delights, all this the sacrament does for spiritual life . . . Hence

21. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 8, no. 993. See the fol-
lowing edition: Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, Chapters 1–8, ed. the Aquinas
Institute, trans. F. R. Larcher, Latin/English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 35 (Land-
er, Wyo.: The Aquinas Institute for the Study of Sacred Doctrine, 2013).
22. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 73, a. 4, ad 2.
23. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 3.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmuni o n 279

the Lord says: in John 6:56 [v. 55]: “My flesh is true food, and my blood is true
drink.”24

This dense passage integrates several of Thomas’s central convictions in

his sacramental theology. First, the analogy between natural human life
and sacramental life is Aquinas’s preferred way of seeing the sacramental
order as a whole. Thus, baptism is spiritual birth, confirmation growth
into adulthood, Eucharist is eating and drinking, extreme unction is for
a good death, and so on.25 Basic aspects of human life such as birth and
death provide the ideal entryway for God’s pedagogy. Second, part of this
overall analogy is revealed: baptism truly is a new birth ( Jn 3) and the
Eucharist is truly food and drink ( Jn 6). These aspects of the analogy are
not theological constructs or theories. Third, Aquinas insists on taking
the analogy as far as possible. If Christ chose to bring us the greatest sac-
rament in the form of food and drink, then virtually every aspect of these
natural gifts becomes revelatory: every effect that natural food and drink
have for us, spiritual food and drink also have. Natural food and drink
sustain, augment, restore, and delight. The Eucharist sustains and aug-
ments the life of grace begun by the sacrament of baptism, or begun anew
by sacramental penance. The Eucharist restores the strength of virtue, lost
through sin and vice, especially by augmenting charity. The sacrament
also incites us to acts of charity, and these acts take away venial sins, thus
bringing spiritual healing.26 The Eucharist delights the soul, like sweet
manna and wine that inebriates.
Aquinas’s exposition of Eucharistic food and drink focuses on the
individual’s act of eating and drinking. That is, he generally does not use
this image to speak of a shared banquet. However, the communal dimen-
sion emerges when he expounds on another aspect of the Eucharistic sign,
namely, the many grains united in one host and many grapes contained
in one cup. Again, the liturgical sign manifests the spiritual benefit that
it brings. Aquinas adopts the teaching of 1 Corinthians 11 and St. Augus-
tine.27 As Gilles Emery points out, for Thomas, this unity of many grains

24. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1.

25. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 65, a. 1.
26. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 4. For more on penance and forgiveness,
see especially q. 87, aa. 1–2.
27. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1.

280 E u c h a r i s tic C om m union

and grapes, “is not inconsequential, since the sacrament effects that which
is represented or signified, that is, the true Body of Christ and the mystical
Body. Thus, in Thomas, the ecclesial signification serves to manifest that
the sacrament effectively produces this grace.”28 Thus, the members who
partake of this sign simultaneously become more fully united with their
head and with one another. There simply is no tension between vertical
and horizontal communion, between our relation with Christ and our re-
lation with the Church. Emery also notes that the ecclesial fruit of com-
munion is not parallel to other spiritual benefits imparted to us. That is, it
is not as if our personal union with Christ or our new share in God’s ho-
liness are given in addition to our deeper incorporation into the Church.
Rather, Eucharistic communion sanctifies us precisely by joining us more
closely to Christ, the head, and to his mystical body, the Church.29 Numer-
ous aspects of the liturgy reinforce the importance of this theme of unity.
As we saw previously, many Eucharistic prayers include an epiclesis that
asks God to make the gifts of Christ’s body and blood a means of unity for
those who partake therein. More than the other sacraments, the Eucharist
fortifies the unity of the Church.
The Eucharist brings this spiritual fruit especially because it pours
forth an abundance of charity. Thomas makes this link by returning to
the image of spiritual food and drink and by appropriating Augustine’s
theology of love. As Emery explains, in communion,
the food is not transformed into the one who eats, but rather, the one eating is
changed (convertetur) into the food that he eats. This understanding is clear-
ly a development of Augustine’s thought. The effect proper to the Eucharist, as
Thomas expresses it, is the transformation (transformatio) of man into Christ by
love . . . our conversio into Christ, a union or adunatio into Christ: in other words,
incorporation into Christ.30

Christ instituted the Eucharist as the most powerful signification of cor-

poreal and spiritual union with him. Eating implies assimilation, but the
analogy must be modified when it comes to spiritual union with the In-
carnate Word and the consumption of Christ’s incorruptible, glorified
28. Gilles Emery, “The Ecclesial Fruit of the Eucharist in St. Thomas,” in Trinity, the Church
and the Human Person: Thomistic Essays (Naples, Fla.: Sapientia Press, 2007), 157.
29. Emery, “The Ecclesial Fruit,” 161.
30. Emery, “The Ecclesial Fruit,” 159.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmun i o n 281

body and blood. He does not become like us or part of us, hence, we must
become like him and be conformed to him ever more closely. But such
intense union can come about only through charity. In the Eucharist, we
partake in the ultimate sign of charity, his bodily life given up for us. We
become like the gift received.
With Augustine, Thomas holds that the ecclesial bond of unity and
the bond of charity are closely intertwined. That is, charity is the ultimate
measure of the degree to which we are united to the Church. Now charity
presupposes faith, since love presupposes knowledge, and charity needs
the knowledge of faith (implicit or explicit) in order to love Christ, for
we cannot love what we do not know. The Eucharist brings about “in-
corporation into the mystical body by the union of faith and charity.”31
All who are saved partake of the effects of the Eucharist, at least by antic-
ipation (including baptized babies and those justified by implicit faith),
so that they “spiritually” (but not always sacramentally) eat and drink
Christ: “in spiritually eating the flesh of Christ and in spiritually drinking
his blood we become participators in the Church’s unity which is caused
by charity.”32 This theology is related to yet distinct from the practice of
“making a spiritual communion” (treated below).
The Eucharist imparts charity, while also presupposing an existing
bond of faith and charity. Through baptism (at least as desired, but espe-
cially by receiving it sacramentally), we become members of the Church
and are united to her. Sacramental reconciliation restores the ruptured
bond of unity and charity. In this way, we can account for the constant
ecclesial practices of (1) reserving the reception of the Eucharist to believ-
ers, and (2) refusing the sacrament to those in grave sin, on the basis of
1 Corinthians 11.
This charity comes by the Holy Spirit. Commenting on John 6:63,
Thomas explains:
the flesh of Christ, considered in itself, profits nothing. . . . But if it is united to
the Spirit and his divinity, it profits many, because it makes those who receive it

31. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 7, no. 976.
32. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 7, no. 969. For spiritual
eating without sacramental reception, see Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1, ad 1. Aquinas here ex-
plains a means of contact with the spiritual reality (res) or spiritual gift of the sacrament by those
who cannot access it.

282 E u c h ar i s tic C om m union

abide in Christ, for man abides in God through the Spirit of love: “We know that
we abide in God and God in us, because he has given us his Spirit” (1 Jn 4:13).33

The body of Christ overflows with the Spirit, he who is eternally the gift
of love between Father and Son, and this same Spirit does in us what he
does in the Trinity, namely he binds persons together in charity. The Spir-
it leads us to Christ, who in turn brings us to the Father.
All of this implies a Trinitarian mystical theology. Aquinas holds that,
with each gift of habitual charity, we also enjoy a new coming of the Holy
Spirit into our hearts, and this grace involves a simultaneous visitation of
the eternal Logos with his light or wisdom.34 Gilles Emery writes:
the Summa [theologiae] acknowledges the presence of the new [invisible] mis-
sions [of Son and Spirit] not only in exceptional spiritual experiences, but also in
a progress in the virtues or in the growth in grace, and whenever the indwelling of
the divine persons seems to have brought some “new thing” to bear, that is, when
progress toward union with God encounters a new state of grace or inspires new
acts, which could be voluntary poverty or the acceptance of martyrdom, but also
the reception of the sacraments.35

The Eucharist transforms us into Christ by charity. This theme helps

to account for the teaching of John 6, that eating Christ’s flesh and drink-
ing his blood bring about a mutual indwelling: Christ in us and we in
him. It is an abiding communion, and so, this involves a new outpouring
of habitual charity (as an abiding spiritual disposition of the will to love
God above all things). Now every sacrament grants some share in habitu-
al grace. By the Eucharist, Christ refashions our hearts in the image of his
heart: he makes us love the things he loves, and as he loves them, in a self-
less, ­life-giving way. In this way, we are also conformed to the Spirit, who
is rightly called personal Love in the eternal life of the Trinity.36
We call the Eucharist the sacrament of friendship, for it provokes an
intensification of the charity received in baptism, allowing us to share
33. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 8, no. 993.
34. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I, q. 43, aa. 5–6; Bernhard Blankenhorn, The Mystery
of Union with God: Dionysian Mysticism in Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas, Thomistic Res-
sourcement 4 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2015), 249–59.
35. Gilles Emery, The Trinitarian Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, trans. Francesca Aran Mur-
phy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 386.
36. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I, q, 43, a. 3, ad 1–2; Emery, The Trinitarian Theology
of St. Thomas Aquinas, 260, 376–78.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmuni o n 283

more fully in the exchange of hearts that is the mark of friendship. The
Son took on a nature like ours, so that our hearts may become like his,
through contact with his flesh and blood. Once we see the Eucharist as
the sacrament of friendship, many other Eucharistic doctrines fall into
place (e.g., the Eucharist presupposes faith, by which alone we can know
Christ as our true friend). Roch Kereszty rightly notes that the Eucha-
rist brings a fully effective spiritual communion only when Christ’s gift
of himself is in turn met by our ­self-giving.37 That is, we welcome his gift
by love of him. We must be willing to let Christ guide our lives if com-
munion is to have an effect in us. And so, communion presumes a life of
charity in the recipient, the existing reciprocity of friends.
Thomas sees a link between the gift of Christ’s charity offered in the
Eucharist and the experience of delight and spiritual joy in communion.
He notes that two kinds of charity are made available in communion: ha-
bitual and actual. The virtue of charity inclines the believer to selfless acts
of love. But actual charity is the very act of love that the Spirit incites in
us, if we are receptive. Thomas partly grounds this doctrine on John Dam-
ascene’s comparison of the Eucharist to a burning coal on fire with the
divinity, and by appeal to 2 Corinthians 5:14: “The love of Christ urges
us on.”38 Communion should normally elicit an act of love for Christ the
bridegroom, in the moment and thereafter. Also, the Eucharist disposes
the recipient to better love his or her neighbor as well.
Aquinas connects the actual charity that the Eucharist pours into the
­well-disposed, attentive recipient with an experience of spiritual delight,
sweetness, and refreshment. Thomas references the Song of Songs (5:1):
“Eat, friends, and drink, and be inebriated, my dearly beloved.”39 The Eu-
charist delights the soul by provoking an act of charity, and love naturally
produces joy in the beloved. Spiritual wine inebriates and brings about
joy, much as the consumption of natural wine brings joy to the heart and
37. Roch A. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb: Eucharistic Theology from a Biblical, Histor-
ical and Systematic Perspective (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2007), 194. This is not to say that we
must make a conscious, undistracted act of love and s­ elf-giving in the moment of Communion in
order to receive its spiritual benefits. Rather, this primarily concerns the best spiritual disposition
for such an act.
38. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1, ad 2.
39. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 1, ad 2 & a. 8. For Aquinas’s bridal mys-
ticism, see ­Serge-Thomas Bonino, Saint Thomas d’Aquin, lecteur du Cantique des cantiques (Paris:
Cerf, 2019).

284 E u c h a r i s tic C om m union

pleasure to the body. A similar reading of Song of Songs 5:1 can be found
in Albertus Magnus:
For since it is characteristic of loved ones that they mutually dwell in each other
through desire, he would not say, “Eat, friends, and drink,” unless he sought to
enter into them through his body and blood and soul and divinity. Nor would he
say, “Be inebriated, my loved ones,” unless he desired that they, likewise forgetful
of themselves, also desire to enter into God through incorporation.40

Albert evokes a mystical experience available to any believer. Such experi-

ence is hardly limited to the moment of communion, yet it is rightly con-
centrated therein, so that Christ may teach us about his wondrous, sub-
stantial, and dynamic presence. Why should believers not expect such an
experience to occur most of all in the moment when they can touch the
body of the divine bridegroom? Albert insists: “For fire penetrating into
the marrow teaches the power of this love by which Christ pours himself
into us and draws us into himself; nor can anyone know this power other
than by intimate love.”41 The lives of many saints confirm that the Eucha-
rist is the place par excellence to experience divine sweetness.
Aquinas continues the patristic teaching that communion causes the
forgiveness of venial sins. He traces this gift back to the signification of
the Eucharist as food. Just as natural food restores lost physical energy
and strength, so spiritual food restores spiritual strength. We grow weak
through venial sin, and strong when sin is taken away. Aquinas means
that the Eucharist takes away the fault of venial sin or the guilt incurred.
He shows how this occurs by speaking of the res sacramenti, the invisi-
ble reality imparted by the sacrament. The term res sacramenti refers to
charity, but now considered as a means to forgiveness. An elevated habit-
ual charity and new acts of charity elicited by the power of the Eucharist
lead to forgiveness.42 Here, 1 Peter 4:8 surely stands in the background:
“love covers a multitude of sins.” Thomas does not say that communion
always takes away the guilt incurred for any venial sins committed since
the last confession or the last fruitful communion. He does not present

40. Albertus Magnus, On the Body of the Lord, d. 1, chap. 3, trans. Albert Marie Surmanski,
The Fathers of the Church: Mediaeval Continuation 17 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Univer-
sity of America Press, 2017), 51.
41. Albertus Magnus, On the Body of the Lord, d. 1, chap. 2, pp. 47–48.
42. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 4.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmun i o n 285

a complete substitute for the sacramental confession of venial sins. Rath-
er, communion brings forgiveness of some and potentially all venial sins.
Communion may do this indirectly by habitual charity, enabling more
frequent acts of love that cover our sins. A new gift of actual charity di-
rectly causes forgiveness.43 This doctrine emphasizes man’s active cooper-
ation in the life of grace.
Thomas is convinced that Christ’s institution of the Eucharist in the
form of food and drink is a powerful revelation. Sacramental food and
drink strengthen and delight, restore lost energy and bring joy. By con-
trast, in baptism, we are buried with Christ, we die to sin and rise to new
life with him (Rom 6). Aquinas likes to point out that food and drink are
for the living, not the dead. Spiritual regeneration comes through bap-
tism, spiritual resurrection through penance, but spiritual food and drink
are for those who are already spiritually alive.44 Aquinas insists that the
Eucharistic signs are part of God’s grand pedagogy. His reading of the
signs also makes sense in light of 1 Corinthians 11 and constant liturgi-
cal practice. We can appropriate well the patristic image of the Eucharist
as spiritual medicine only if we read it together with the Fathers’ other
teachings and the biblical doctrine that they presume. Aquinas develops
his doctrine on the foundation of St. Paul’s stark warnings in 1 Corinthi-
ans 6 and 11 not to eat the body of the Lord unworthily: such an act in-
volves both a profanation of the most sacred gift and a weakening of the
body that is the Church.
Yet Aquinas also holds that communion can forgive mortal sins, when
received by a person who is neither conscious of the mortal sin nor at-
tached to it.45 He presents the case of a person not sufficiently contrite for
his or her sins, but who approaches the Eucharist with devotion, there-
by obtaining full contrition.46 Here, Aquinas probably thinks of some-
one who previously confessed a grave sin, but in whom the fruit of the

43. Réginald ­Garrigou-Lagrange, De eucharistia, accedunt de paenitentia: Questiones dogmat-

icae, Commentarius in Summam theologicam S. Thomae (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1943), 201–2.
44. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 3.
45. The following paragraphs on mortal sin and the Eucharist integrate material from the fol-
lowing essay: Bernhard Blankenhorn, “L’eucaristia nella vita matrimoniale: Medicina dei peccatori
o sacramento dei vivi?” in Eucaristia e Matrimonio: Due sacramenti, un’alleanza, ed. José Granados
and Stefano Salucci (Siena, Italy: Cantagalli, 2015), 127–49.
46. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 3.

286 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

sacrament of penance did not fully take root, due to a lack of openness
to the sacrament’s effect of contrition. Thomas also suggests that when
one lacks awareness of an unconfessed mortal sin, communion brings par-
don.47 Overall, Aquinas proposes that two elements need to be present:
(1) the person is not aware of being guilty of a mortal sin, and (2) he is not
attached to that sin.
Aquinas holds that sufficient contrition for sins often precedes sacra-
mental confession.48 In the examples given in the Summa theologiae, the
Eucharist brings sufficient contrition for three kinds of mortal sin: (1) sins
already confessed, but where contrition remains too weak; (2) forgotten
sins; and (3) sins committed without awareness of their gravity. Elsewhere,
Thomas mentions the situation when confessors are not available. In a case
of necessity, when there is awareness of mortal sins, sacramental confes-
sion is not bypassed but delayed (until the first opportunity) and its fruit
anticipated. The Eucharist can heighten the contrition of the penitent in
question.49
Aquinas’s argumentation respects the sign character of the sacraments.
First, the person’s sin is not public, that is, his state of life is not in evident
contradiction of Christ’s moral teaching. The sin is hidden to everyone,
and in most of the scenarios described by Thomas, the sin is hidden even
to the one who committed it. Second, the person in question does not
intend to contradict the sacramental sign. He does not receive spiritual
food in order to be forgiven a grave fault, because he sees no grave fault.
He does not treat Eucharist as a replacement of sacramental confession
of grave sins. Third, the communicant must lack the intention to commit
these or other grave sins in the future, and he would be sorrowful for the
hidden sins if he became aware of them. Thus, the communicant in ques-

47. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 79, a. 3; A­ ymon-Marie Roguet, notes to Thom-
as Aquinas, Somme théologique, L’eucharistie, vol. 1, 3a, Questions 73–78 (Paris: Desclée et Cie,
1960), 294.
48. Gilles Emery, “Reconciliation with the Church and Interior Penance: The Contribution
of Thomas Aquinas on the Res et Sacramentum of Penance,” in Trinity, the Church and the Human
Person: Thomistic Essays (Naples, Fla.: Sapientia Press, 2007), 187.
49. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on First Corinthians, chap. 11, lectio 7, no. 690. See the
following edition: Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Letters of Saint Paul to the Corinthians, ed.
B. Mortensen and E. Alarcón, trans. F. R. Larcher, B. Mortensen, and D. Keating, Latin/English
Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 38 (Lander, Wyo.: The Aquinas Institute for the Study
of Sacred Doctrine, 2013).

E uc h ar i s tic C o mmuni o n 287

tion fully intends to respect the moral law and to submit himself to the
Church’s power of the keys exercised in the sacrament of penance.
We have seen that the forgiveness of sins is an effect of communion,
via the charity it imparts. Here too, we find an eschatological fruit: Eu-
charistic charity brings us closer to our heavenly destiny. Finally, hope
should increase whenever we receive communion with a proper under-
standing of the gift imparted, namely, that it is the glorified Christ who
gives himself to us, in a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.50 This hope
should be accompanied by a holy desire. The Eucharistic hymn Adoro te
devote, likely composed by Aquinas, ends thus: “Jesus whom I now gaze
at veiled, when shall that which I so desire come to pass? So that seeing
you, your face revealed, I may be blessed with the vision of your glory.”51
Communion in Christ’s hidden body and the gift of charity that it brings
cannot but intensify the longing to see that hidden Christ without the
sacramental veils.
I should come back to the patristic theme of the Eucharistic body as
a cause of our future bodily resurrection. It is evident that the Eucharist
does not operate a visible, physical change in its recipient’s bodies. The
gift of incorruptibility is essentially a delayed effect of communion, yet
it is caused precisely by the indwelling of Christ, which grows with every
fruitful communion. We can also posit the beginning of a share in bodily
glorification in this way: the wounds of sin in our passions are gradually
healed through Eucharistic communion.52 Christ’s irascible and concu-
piscible appetites were and are perfect, as will ours be in our resurrected
bodies. By conformity to his risen body, we can begin to share in the res-
toration of that part of our soul that stands on the border between the
immaterial and material, which is the passions. If this claim is sound, then
we can look to the Eucharist to diminish our anger, increase our forti-
tude, weaken lust or other disordered longings, and to gradually shape in
us wholesome desires for bodily goods.

50. Lawrence Feingold, The Eucharist: Mystery of Presence, Sacrifice and Communion (Steu-
benville, Ohio: Emmaus Academic, 2018), 525.
51. Translation by Paul Murray, Aquinas at Prayer: The Bible, Mysticism and Poetry (London:
Bloomsbury, 2013), 244. For the authenticity of the prayer, see J­ ean-Pierre Torrell, Initiation à saint
Thomas d’Aquin: Sa personne et son œuvre, 2nd ed. (Paris: Cerf, 2015), 178.
52. Kereszty, Wedding Feast of the Lamb, 196.

288 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

Excursus: Spiritual Communion
The outbreak of the Coronavirus (­Covid-19) in early 2020, a veritable
modern plague, has heightened the relevance of the theology and prac-
tice of spiritual communion. In times of Eucharistic famine, what hidden
spiritual treasures might the Church rediscover?53
Augustine helped to lay the foundation for a solid theological ac-
count of how the grace of the Eucharist can be obtained by anticipation.
In his Tractates on John, the Latin Father explains Jesus’ bread of life dis-
course. The Israelites in the desert ate manna but still died, for they lacked
faith in the hidden reality signified by the miraculous bread. But Moses,
Aaron, and other devout Israelites understood and believed well, so that
they desired and tasted both the visible and the spiritual manna. We find
different figures in the Old and New Covenants (the manna in the desert,
the visible sign on the Church’s altar), while the spiritual reality (or res)
given therein is the same. Augustine applies this lesson to his flock: the
visible sign is one thing, while its power is something else. He exhorts his
listeners to bring their innocence to the altar, so as to eat the Eucharist not
just sacramentally but also spiritually, and so to obtain eternal life.54 The
hidden reality signified, offered, and received is the unity of the Church,
which is caused by the Spirit’s gift of charity.55
Eight centuries later, Aquinas picked up on Augustine’s pastoral ex-
egesis. In his Commentary on the Gospel of John, Thomas asks why young
children (in the Latin Church) do not receive communion, for apparent-
ly, Christ himself made it necessary for salvation, as when he solemnly
proclaims: “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his
blood, you have no life in you” ( Jn 6:53). Thomas answers with an appeal
to the notion of attaining a sacrament by desire.56 He also notes that, just
as the catechumen who dies before the Easter Vigil can be saved through
his desire for baptism, so the baptized believer still lacking access to the

53. This section presents a modified version of an article published April 8, 2020, in the on-
line periodical, Church Life Journal, entitled, “A Short History and Theology of Spiritual Commu-
nion.” I am grateful to the journal’s editor, Artur Sebastian Rosman, at the McGrath Institute for
Church Life of the University of Notre Dame for allowing this portion to be republished.
54. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, tractate 26, nos. 11–12.
55. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, tractate 26, nos. 13, 15; tractate 27, no 6.
56. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of John, chap. 6, lectio 7, no. 969.

E uc h a r i stic C o mmuni o n 289

Eucharist can obtain its spiritual fruit, and this, even by an implicit desire
(as in the case of children who have not reached the age of reason).57 In
his Summa theologiae, Aquinas pursues this analogy with baptism by de-
sire further. One can eat the Eucharist “spiritually” before eating it sacra-
mentally in two ways: (1) in the Old Covenant, where the faithful Israel-
ite ate the physical manna and the spiritual food provided therein, as well
as (2) in the New Covenant, by a desire to receive the sacrament of the
Eucharist. Thomas adds a precision to Augustine’s exegesis: sacramental
eating should not be seen as superfluous, for actual reception of the visi-
ble sign induces a richer spiritual effect than does spiritual eating alone.58
Augustine, Thomas, and other saints laid the doctrinal foundation for
a practice that gained popularity starting in late medieval times, namely,
that of making a “spiritual communion.” Spiritual masters like St. Teresa
of Ávila and St. Alphonsus Liguori have given this practice particular at-
tention, as have the Council of Trent and Pius XII.59
Alphonsus and other spiritual masters set forth a basic structure for
the practice of spiritual communion. First, the practice presupposes that
one be in a state of grace. If this is not the case, then an act of sincere con-
trition should come first.60 Next, while an act of spiritual communion
can be done anywhere, a Church with a tabernacle is the ideal place (even
if the Blessed Sacrament is not exposed for adoration). When possible, it
should coincide with the celebration of Mass in another place (to which
the believer can deliberately join himself ). Alphonsus begins each day’s
meditation with a Scripture passage that has a Eucharistic theme. Fitting-
ly, the first response to Scripture (and the Blessed Sacrament) should be
an act of faith, especially in Christ and his Eucharistic presence. Here,
particular attention to his Passion (and other mysteries of Christ) would
be laudable. Then follows a deliberate act of charity, an expression of love
for God and neighbor. Francis de Sales sees spiritual communion’s essence
57. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 68, a. 2; q. 73, a. 3.
58. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae III, q. 80, a. 1, ad 3.
59. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrament of the Eucharist, chap. 8; Pius XII, Mediator Dei,
no. 117; William of ­Saint-Thierry, Lettre aux frères du ­Mont-Dieu (Lettre d’or), ed. Jean Déchanet,
Sources chrétiennes 223 (Paris: Cerf, 1975), nos. 115–19; Teresa of Avila, Way of Perfection, chapter
37, in Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriguez, vol. 2
(Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1980).
60. Louis de Bazelaire, “Communion spirituelle,” in Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, ed.
E. Mangenot, vol. 3 (Paris: Librairie Letouzey et Âne, 1908), 1297, 1299.

290 E u c h ar i s tic C om m union

in the soul’s desire for the Eucharistic Christ, that is, the heart’s expres-
sion of loving desire.61 Here one speaks to Christ about one’s hunger and
thirst for the spiritual food and drink that are perfectly contained in his
Eucharistic body and blood, and thereby simultaneously incites a greater
interior hunger and thirst. Alphonsus also sees the importance of a pe-
tition for lasting union with Christ, or an explicit invitation for him to
come into one’s soul.62 Such language evokes the classic doctrine of the
invisible missions of Son and Spirit, namely, the coming of Son and Spirit
into our minds and hearts with gifts of habitual wisdom and charity.
This contemplative act brings many graces, though usually not gifts
equal to the spiritual fruits obtained by sacramental eating.63 Aquinas’s
theological principle is sound: the sacrament’s institution by Christ im-
plies that a merely spiritual communion does not suffice as a perma-
nent practice, for otherwise, the Old Testament figures would have been
enough for the economy of salvation.

Recent Controversies on Communion

Communion for ­Non-Catholic Christians?
Eucharistic communion presupposes a unity of faith. Paul, in 1 Corin-
thians 11:26, posits an explicit link between communion and a shared
Christological faith. Yet Paul also assumes a common faith on all essential
matters of doctrine among those coming to the Eucharist, essentially, the
reception of apostolic teaching. Or consider the warning in 2 John not
even to greet schismatics. Thus, in the Christian tradition, a lack of shared
doctrine on any essential matter of faith has consistently been considered
an impediment to communion.
At the Last Supper, we see Jesus giving the flesh and blood of the New
Passover Lamb to his disciples. The liturgical tradition and all the doc-
tors of the Church agree that we are given Christ’s very own body and
blood, and Christ as a victim. At communion, we say “Amen,” which is a

61. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, trans. Allan Ross (Westminster, Md.:
Newman Press, 1953), part 2, chap. 21.
62. Alphonsus Liguori, Visits to the Most Holy Sacrament and to the Holy Virgin for Every Day
in the Month (London: T. Jones, 1849), xiv–xvii.
63. Bazelaire, “Communion spirituelle,” 1299.

E uc h a r i s tic C o mmuni o n 291

confession of faith in the gift received. We adore the Passover Lamb, and
we also say “Amen” to the act of offering the Lamb to God the Father, the
Lamb now consumed in a sacrificial banquet. During communion, the
“Amen” is authentic only if we accept the truth of the gift being offered.
This implies that ­non-Christians should not receive communion.64 But
what about Protestant believers who long to share the Eucharist with us?
In the spring of 2018, the German Bishops Conference published a
guide (Mit Christus Gehen: Der Einheit auf der Spur) on how to discern
when the Protestant spouse of a Catholic person can receive commu-
nion.65 The document encourages such couples to reach their own de-
cision in their conscience, after a dialogue with a pastor or lay pastoral
assistant.66 It sees the inaccessibility of communion for the Protestant
spouse as possibly a spiritual risk for the marriage, and thus sometimes
a case of “grave necessity.”67 Protestant spouses who hunger for the Eu-
charist and decide in favor of communion are asked to affirm Catholic
faith in the Eucharist.68 The conference’s text bases itself on p­ ost-conciliar
magisterial documents, as well as canon 844.3–4 of the 1983 Code of
Canon Law, which describe situations in which Eucharistic communion
and some other sacraments may be given to n ­ on-Catholic Christians. In
these documents, we find a consistent reference to communion in cases of
grave necessity and the need for the recipient to manifest Catholic faith
in the sacrament received.69

64. Some theologians argue that the Eucharist is essentially a shared meal of believers who
together offer a prayer of thanksgiving to God. From this perspective, refusing Communion to our
separated brethren attending the liturgy would be unthinkable. See Thomas O’Loughlin, “Theolo-
gies of Intercommunion: Responding to a Recent Papal Request,” New Blackfriars 97 (May 2016),
372–87. O’Loughlin’s approach is univocal: he analyzes the Eucharist exclusively from the perspec-
tive of a sacred meal. He refuses to posit the question of which Eucharistic presence is confessed
by those who commune. He also seems to imply that Protestants present at Mass could refuse as-
sent to the Church’s offering of Christ the victim, a doctrine clearly expressed in the Eucharistic
prayers from antiquity to our day, yet still receive Communion. In this scenario, the Eucharistic
prayer would no longer manifest the shared faith of those who eat and drink the sacrificial body
and blood of Christ. O’Loughlin thus separates the Church’s lex orandi from the significance of
Communion.
65. The guide can be found online at https://www.dbk.de/fileadmin/redaktion/diverse_
downloads/dossiers_2018/­08-Orientierungshilfe-Kommunion.pdf. Accessed June 30, 2018.
66. Mit Christus Gehen, nos. 9, 21, 57.
67. Mit Christus Gehen, no. 18.
68. Mit Christus Gehen, no. 56.
69. See the encyclicals of John Paul II, Ecclesia de Eucharistia, no. 45, in Encyclicals (Trivandrum,

292 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

 The German Bishops Conference’s document emphasizes the shared
Christological and Eucharistic faith of Catholics and Protestants. It gives
little attention to the consistent Protestant rejection of Eucharistic sac-
rifice (perhaps with some Anglicans being excepted) and the general re-
fusal of the doctrine of Christ’s corporeal and substantial presence in the
Eucharist (with the exception of classical Lutherans who hold for con-
substantiation).70 Nor does it mention the universal Protestant refusal
of a sacramental priesthood. The text therefore obscures the fact that the
Protestant spouse who comes to accept Catholic Eucharistic faith has al-
ready ceased to be Protestant, yet without clearly and intentionally be-
coming Catholic. This document seems to describe a person on the path
to conversion. The same logic of discernment and possible exceptions
would apply to catechumens and candidates who are preparing to enter
the Church and are married to a practicing Catholic: given their faith
in the Eucharist, if some experience of pain or exclusion were caused by
their inability to receive together with their spouse, then they seeming-
ly could discern that it is appropriate to receive, even regularly, well be-
fore being formally received into the Church. Yet such a pastoral practice
would have been unthinkable in the tradition. It would turn the entire
process of Christian initiation upside down. Or again, the same principle
should allow a person who refuses to enter RCIA due to opposition to
the Church’s moral teaching to still receive communion, if they come to a
Catholic faith in the Eucharist. This too would have been unthinkable to
the Church Fathers and saints.
The German Bishops Conference document does not consider that
the shared Eucharistic faith also needs to be public. This is implied in
Paul’s teaching, and consistently treated as essential in liturgical practice
over the centuries. A good example can be found in Justin Martyr, who
witnesses to the practice that the presider of the Eucharist shepherds the
people to ensure right faith and morals. A discreet dialogue between a pas-

Kerala, India: Carmel International Publishing House 2005); John Paul II, Ut Unum Sint, April 17,
2003, no. 46, in The Encyclicals of John Paul II, ed. J. Michael Miller (Our Sunday Visitor, 1996).
70. The German ­Lutheran-Catholic ecumenical study group largely sidesteps these issues of
sacrifice and substantial presence in its proposal for intercommunion: Volker Leppin and Doro-
thea Sattler, eds., Together at the Lord’s Table: A Votum of the Ecumenical Working Group of Luther-
an and Catholic Theologians (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2020), 133–37. Oddly, this ecumenical
document ignores the heavy consequences that its proposals bear for ­Catholic-Orthodox relations.

E uc h ar i s tic C o mmuni o n 293

tor and a couple of mixed confessional belonging does not render a com-
mon Eucharistic faith public, and it ignores the abiding divisions of faith
(especially on ecclesiology and perhaps morals). From Ignatius of Antioch
forward, Eucharistic communion has been seen as the manifestation of the
Church’s unity, of the members’ unity in faith and love with the presider
and the bishop. Such an ecclesiology, deliberately reemphasized at Vati-
can II, can hardly be integrated with the guide published by the German
Bishops Conference, a text whose pastoral concern is comprehensible. The
pastoral consequences of the proposal are easy to predict: the Eucharist
will be seen as the sacrament of hospitality, where all are welcome, as long
as they accept some part of Catholic belief in practice. Here, we have the
privatization of the sacraments, of the Church’s most public act.
The magisterial and canonical texts cited by Mit Christus Gehen point
in a different direction. Canon 844 sets out the conditions under which
a Protestant person may seek out Eucharist, penance, and anointing of
the sick from a Catholic minister. It says that there must be the danger
of death or another grave necessity. This language implies rarity. A good
example would be a dying person who manifests Catholic faith in the
sacraments, who has sought and continues to bear a strong inclination
to enter the Catholic Church, yet who lacks the time and opportunity
to pursue this path in a formal way. I use this example because the pres-
ence of a coherent Catholic Eucharistic faith implies faith in a sacramental
priesthood (to offer one sacrifice with Christ), the acceptance of tradi-
tion (with liturgy as its first vehicle), the importance of unity with the
bishop named in the Eucharist, and all the rest of Catholic teaching on
the Eucharist. Here, it would be crucial to have some signs of the person’s
disposition to accept a coherent Catholic faith, and thus of visible unity
with the Church, all the while recognizing the person’s limitations in the
reception of adequate instruction and spiritual guidance to render that
faith fully explicit. Hence, as he comments on canon 844, John Paul II
notes that “the denial of one or more truths of the faith regarding these
sacraments and, among these, the truth regarding the need of the minis-
terial priesthood for their validity, renders the person asking improperly
disposed to legitimately receiving them.”71

71. John Paul II, Ecclesia de Eucharistia, no. 46, in Encyclicals, 34.

294 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

 Eucharistic communion manifests, presumes, and reinforces the visi-
ble and spiritual unity of those partaking therein, and it offers supernat-
ural nourishment on the path to heaven. Both ends of communion must
be fostered. The Eucharist is not a means to visible unity, but a means to
deeper spiritual communion on the foundation of a visible communion
of faith and life. Now visible unity is not simply a matter of all or nothing.
Thus, we share a partial visible unity with the eastern Orthodox, for we
profess the same Creed and celebrate the same sacraments, with the same
sacramental faith. We lack perfect visible unity, essentially with regards
to the role of Peter’s successor in the Church. We have a partial though
lesser unity with the Protestant communities. The key text on this topic
is paragraph 8 of Lumen Gentium: The Church of Christ subsists in the
Catholic Church, but is present to a lesser degree elsewhere.
Since Vatican II, the magisterium has called for a balanced pursuit of
the two ends mentioned above. That is, in some extraordinary cases, east-
ern Orthodox believers may seek out Catholic sacraments of anointing,
penance, and Eucharist. Here, it is a question of urgent spiritual need,
that is, a lack of access to their own ministers and their own sacraments.
The aim is thus not to foster visible unity via the Eucharist (hence, we do
not concelebrate the Eucharist with eastern Orthodox bishops or priests,
although we pray together). The eastern Orthodox have retained a fully
Catholic and coherent faith in the sacraments, (e.g., faith in a sacramen-
tal priesthood). Hence, they can receive the sacraments fruitfully, since
the rites have no positive effect without faith in the saving reality being
offered. Eastern Orthodox believers should not be presumed to bear the
personal guilt of schism, just as we do not presume this for today’s Prot-
estant believers: schism is not an inherited sin. An eastern Orthodox be-
liever shares the Catholic moral teaching rooted in the Gospel. Canon
844 mentions the necessity of the person’s proper disposition, in other
words, the living out of Christian morals (and thus the presence of chari-
ty). Here, the magisterium judges the person’s spiritual need of the sacra-
ments to bear greater weight than the presence of perfect visible unity.72

72. Vatican Council II, Decree on the Oriental Churches (Orientalium Ecclesiarum), nos. 26–
27; Pontifical Council for the Promotion of the Unity of Christians, Ecumenical Directory (March,
1993), nos. 123–25.

E uc h a r i stic C o mmun i o n 295

It is not clear whether such sacramental reception can be regular or fre-
quent.

Communion for the Divorced and Civilly Remarried?

Popes John Paul II, Benedict XVI, and Francis have spoken of the need
to better integrate into the Church’s life those couples who have experi-
enced the pain of civil divorce, and, while their marriage has not been
canonically declared null, have entered into a new civil marriage.73 They
are called to holiness and to share in many aspects of ecclesial life.
In Amoris Laetitia, Pope Francis calls for a greater recognition of cul-
tural and subjective influences in moral decision making: “Because of
forms of conditioning and mitigating factors, it is possible that in an ob-
jective situation of sin—which may not be subjectively culpable, or fully
such—a person can be living in God’s grace, can love and can also grow
in the life of grace and charity, while receiving the Church’s help to this
end.”74 In other words, sometimes a person committing what is objec-
tively speaking an act that is intrinsically sinful, such as premarital or ex-
tramarital intercourse, may not incur the guilt of a mortal sin, as a result
of inadequate moral deliberation, which comes from poor catechesis, the
influence of the surrounding culture, and other impediments to the for-
mation of a Christian conscience.75 Such obstacles have grown in recent
decades in Western culture.
This historical development in turn calls for a more positive tone, of
invitation rather than condemnation. Pope Francis desires careful dis-
cernment, so that pastors who accompany persons in complex and moral-
ly problematic situations encourage them to progress in the moral life by
taking small steps forward.76 This pastoral approach should also be ani-
mated by a deep respect for each person’s conscience, as they seek to apply

73. John Paul II, Familiaris Consortio, nos. 83–84, in The ­Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortations
of John Paul II, ed. J. Michael Miller (Huntington, Ind.: Our Sunday Visitor, 1998); Benedict XVI,
Sacramentum Caritatis, no. 29; Francis, Amoris Laetitia, The Joy of Love: P­ ost-Synodal Apostolic Ex-
hortation (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2016), chap. 8.
74. Francis, Amoris Laetitia, no. 305.
75. Francis, Amoris Laetitia, no. 301. See the helpful commentary by Basile Valuet, “Amoris
Laetitia: Le chapitre VIII ­est-il une révolution?” Revue Thomiste 116 (2016): 585–618.
76. Francis, Amoris Laetitia, no. 305.

296 E u c h a r i s tic Com m union

the law of Christ in their lives.77 At the same time, the wise and merciful
shepherd will heed St. Paul’s urgent warning to the Corinthians to dis-
cern the body of the Lord (1 Cor 11). Pastoral accompaniment should not
obscure how sin weakens the life of the whole community.
The synod of bishops on the family and the p­ ost-synodal apostolic
exhortation Amoris Laetitia have generated much controversy. Various
bishops and episcopal conferences have subsequently issued pastoral
guidelines that show various points of perplexity and great difficulty
(even outright contradiction between some episcopal documents) on the
admission the divorced and civilly remarried to communion. This situa-
tion cannot last, given the immense confusion created among the faithful
in some parts of the Church. Also, the pastoral consequences of theolog-
ical and pastoral principles accepted for these cases must be seen for oth-
er cases: young Catholics who engage in premarital sex, persons who act
upon a ­same-sex attraction, and other situations. Here, revolutionary pas-
toral practices or radical ambiguity on Gospel morals will only intensify
catechetical confusion and the malformation of consciences.
In this situation, it is crucial to hold firm on sacramental as well as
moral principles of Scripture and constant tradition. Also, Thomas, along
with a venerable theological tradition, calls for nuance in the application
of those principles to complex moral situations.78 The International
Theological Commission’s 2009 document on natural law states:
It is impossible to remain at the level of generality, which is that of the first prin-
ciples of the natural law. In fact, moral reflection must descend into the concrete-
ness of action to throw its light on it. But the more it faces concrete and contin-

77. Francis, Amoris Laetitia, nos. 300–302.

78. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae ­I-II, q. 94, a. 4, corpus: “For since speculative reason
deals principally with necessary things, which are such that it is impossible for them to be oth-
erwise, truth is found without exception in the particular conclusions. . . . By contrast, practical
reason deals with contingent things, which include human actions, and so even if there is some
sort of necessity in the universal principles, nonetheless, the further down one descends to par-
ticulars, the more exceptions there are . . . in practical matters, there is the same practical truth or
correctness for everyone only with respect to the universal principles and not with respect to the
particulars” (trans. Alfred Freddoso, https://www3.nd.edu/~afreddos/­summa-translation/TOC.
htm). ­Serge-Thomas Bonino notes that, in addition to this distinction, for Thomas, the positive
norms of the natural moral law do not always oblige, unlike the negative norms, such as, “You shall
not commit adultery.” See Bonino, “Saint Thomas Aquinas in the Apostolic Exhortation Amoris
Laetitia,” The Thomist 80 (2016): 513–16.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmuni o n 297

gent situations, the more its conclusions are affected by a note of variability and
uncertainty.79

Lawrence Feingold draws upon the work of Rocco Buttiglione as he

proposes one scenario in which a divorced and civilly remarried person
might receive communion. In confession, the penitent’s status as divorced
and civilly remarried (without abstinence) becomes manifest to the con-
fessor, with signs of what Feingold calls inculpable ignorance. The con-
fessor might ask whether the penitent understands the contradiction be-
tween his or her behavior and God’s will. If the penitent says “no,” then
the confessor could ask: “But if you became convinced that this behavior
is a serious contradiction of God’s will, would you change it?” If the an-
swer is “yes,” then, says Feingold, perhaps footnote 351 of Amoris Laetitia
would open the door to the reception of communion. Feingold notes that
all of this should be done in a way that avoids scandal.80
Is this scenario acceptable? At the very least, I would add a double
nuance. First, it should not be said that such persons lack the moral
strength to change, as this would contradict the Council of Trent, which
condemns the idea that God’s grace may not suffice to carry out his com-
mandments.81 Rather, in some cases, a malformed moral conscience con-
stitutes a major difficulty. P
­ ost-Christian western culture has produced a
new kind of doctrinal and moral ignorance among some of the faithful.
During sacramental confession, this can manifest itself not so much as
inculpable ignorance as a perplexity of the penitent’s conscience, espe-
cially when they struggle to judge well between contradictory doctrinal
proposals offered by various bishops, priests, theologians, or catechists.
Second, to further nuance Feingold’s approach, the persons in question
should already be in the habit of receiving communion, with the sincere
conviction that this pleases God. I propose that the confessor should not
encourage them to begin going to communion. Rather, he should look for
a path whereby they come either to see that they should not receive the
sacrament, or to change their action (so as to return to Eucharistic com-

79. International Theological Commission, In Search of a Universal Ethic: A New Look at the
Natural Law (London: Catholic Truth Society, 2012), no. 53.
80. Feingold, The Eucharist, 553–54; Rocco Buttiglione, “Amoris Laetitia: Risposte ai critici,”
Lateranum 83 (2017): 191–240.
81. Council of Trent, Decree on Justification, DH 1536.

298 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

munion). The confessor should ask himself: how can I bring this person
to the fullness of salvation, without relativizing Jesus’ teaching?
The focus of pastoral care for persons in irregular situations should be
on catechesis, spiritual accompaniment, the regular attendance of Mass,
participation in prayer groups and other types of Christian fellowship,
and the practice of the corporal works of mercy. Also, no one should pre-
sume that a particular couple’s situation must, by itself, put them in a state
of mortal sin. Let us recall that lack of access to communion is not a sign
of condemnation.
Why do I propose to read Amoris Laetitia in this way? The reasons are
moral and sacramental. First, Christ’s teaching on marriage and adultery
is strikingly clear (Mt 5). Indeed, it shocked his contemporaries, who had
accepted divorce and remarriage for Jewish men. The practice of the ear-
ly Christians shows that this teaching was not interpreted as an ideal for
which they could aim, but a l­ife-giving precept to be applied. It is crucial
to hold firm to this principle: relativizing the value of clear Gospel teach-
ing does great pastoral harm.
Second, the notion of intrinsically immoral acts is one of the great
accomplishments of the Christian moral tradition. That is, however cir-
cumstances or ignorance might diminish moral culpability, some kinds of
moral acts always remain objectively disordered, an obstacle to spiritual
flourishing.82 John Paul II’s encyclical Veritatis Splendor taught the neg-
ative precepts of the natural law always oblige. He adds that the Church
has always taught that one may never choose the kinds of acts that Christ
forbids (including adultery, referencing Mt 19).83 The proposal of some
that sexual relations outside of the marriage setting can be ­life-giving
contradicts this doctrine and puts the indissolubility of marriage in ques-
tion.84 The denial of Veritatis Splendor’s importance harms the moral and
spiritual authority of the Church’s current teaching, and risks reducing

82. John Finnis, Moral Absolutes: Tradition, Revision, and Truth (Washington, D.C.: The
Catholic University of America Press, 1991).
83. John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor, Encyclical Letter, August 6, 1993, no. 52. See The Encycli-
cals of John Paul II, ed. Miller.
84. Mats Wahlberg, “The Two Faces of Amoris Laetitia,” First Things, April 4 (2017), https://
www.firstthings.com/­web-exclusives/2017/04/­the-two-faces-of-amoris-laetitia, accessed April 15,
2017.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmun i o n 299

all magisterial pronouncements to prudential judgments adapted to the
culture. The Church thus loses her prophetic voice.
Third, from St. Paul through the whole of tradition, Eucharistic com-
munion has been linked with moral practice in harmony with the words
and example of Christ. In the constant liturgical and penitential tradi-
tion, the shepherd of the flock has an essential role in deciding who can
commune, so that the decision does not belong to the recipient alone. The
case, in 1 Corinthians 5, of Paul’s disciplining the man who sleeps with
his stepmother is a good example. The sacraments are the Church’s public
acts, her public manifestation of the kind of faith and moral life necessary
to follow Christ consistently. As public acts, the sacraments are part of
God’s pedagogy, teaching the faithful which pattern of life leads to Christ
and which does not. Admitting persons to communion who are known
to live in an extramarital relation may signal to the community’s mem-
bers the moral acceptability of such a choice (regardless of the individu-
al’s conscience or moral culpability). As communal acts, the sacraments
cannot be administered solely according to the moral discernment of the
recipient, since this privatizes the Church’s public rites. Furthermore, the
pastor’s decision primarily applies objective moral standards that judge
visible or outward actions. He cannot discern whether a person in an
irregular situation abides in a state of grace.85 Rather, he might identify
signs of diminished moral culpability or probable signs of the working
of grace in a person’s path of conversion. The pastor can recognize that
the circumstances in some hard cases may render the person’s (subjective)
moral standing before God ambiguous (which is distinct from the false
claim that objectively disordered moral acts can become ­life-giving). The
individual’s standing before God often remains a mystery open to God
alone.
In all difficult cases, the pastor should offer a pastoral presence cen-
tered on God’s mercy, a mercy that calls each person to conversion. The
priest needs to walk with persons, with the ultimate aim of bringing them
to participate in Eucharistic communion. And in fidelity to St. Paul, he

85. José Granados, Stephan Kampowski, and Juan José P ­ érez-Soba, Amoris Laetitia: Accompa-
gnare, discernere, integrare: Vademecum per una nuova pastorale familiare (Siena, Italy: Cantagalli,
2016), 126.

300 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

needs to safeguard the common spiritual good of the Church by protect-
ing the holiness of the sacraments, including that of the marriage bond.

Conclusion
The Eucharist is not the sacrament of the perfect. Rather, it is spiritual
food and drink for those whose lips and heart say “Amen” to the gift re-
ceived and to all that this entails, saying “Amen” to the Church who offers
the gift and making a commitment to follow Christ’s way, with a decision
to leave behind whatever contradicts discipleship, so as to limp along the
way of the Cross.
Communion with Christ entails communion with the Church: the
vertical and horizontal dimensions go together. Communion is neither
the individual’s solitary encounter with God nor merely a sign of commu-
nal belonging. Rather, intimate contact with the Bridegroom in his very
flesh and blood entails an ­ever-deeper participation in the covenant com-
munity that is the Church. One of the motives for protecting Eucharistic
realism at all cost is to maximize the personal, spousal aspect of commu-
nion. Eucharistic realism in turn entails ecclesial realism. With Henri de
Lubac, we can say that the effect of the Eucharist that is the Church must
be adequate to its cause, which is Christ’s Eucharistic body.86 We confess
more firmly that the Church is Christ’s body when we discern his body
on the altar.
The firm link between the Eucharist and the Church was recognized
and lived by countless saints, among whom St. Catherine of Siena stands
out. One day, before the liturgy, Catherine was illumined by God on the
Church’s tribulation. She then prayed thus before Mass, where “in Com-
munion the soul most sweet tightens the bonds between it and God and
knows its truth better. It is in God and God is in it, as a fish in the sea and
the sea in the fish.”87 She then asked God for the reform of the Church.
If we follow her example, communion received with fervor should elicit a
86. De Lubac, Corpus Mysticum: L’Eucharistie et l’Église au Moyen Âge, étude historique (Paris:
Aubier, 1949), 289–90.
87. Catherine of Siena, Book of Divine Teaching, chaps. 1–2, quoted in Journet, The Mass: The
Presence of the Sacrifice of the Cross, trans. Victor Szczurek (South Bend, Ind.: St. Augustine’s Press,
2008), 194.

E uc h ar i sti c C o mmun i o n 301

deep confidence that God will purify the Church’s members and lead her
to a safe harbor.
The Eucharist stands at the heart of the spiritual life, guiding each
person along a unique path, as Journet explains:
The effects of the Eucharistic Communion are multiple: They have the liberty
and unpredictability of an entry of God into the soul. They can by turns con-
sole and distress the soul, illuminate and submerge it by eddies coming from the
night of our Savior’s agony. They can confound it by the sight of its own weak-
ness and needs. They can reveal to it the passion of the Church, crucified on five
continents and in humanity’s distresses. Nevertheless, all multiplicity of its effects
tends toward one end: the consummation of the spiritual life.88

The Eucharist stands at the center of the life of a persecuted Church,

and thus of everyone committed to the way of the Cross. But the Cross
leads to the fullness of life, which the Bread of Life gives.

88. Journet, The Mass, 196.

302 E u c h ar i s tic Com m union

B i bl i og r ap h y
B i bl i og r ap h y
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Thomas Aquinas. Commentary on the Gospel of John, Chapters 1–8. Edited by the
Aquinas Institute. Translated by F. R. Larcher. Latin/English Edition of the Works
of St. Thomas Aquinas 35. Lander, Wyo.: The Aquinas Institute for the Study of
Sacred Doctrine, 2013.
———. Commentary on the Letters of Saint Paul to the Corinthians. Edited by B.
Mortensen and E. Alarcón, translated by F. R. Larcher, B. Mortensen, and D. Keat-
ing. Latin/English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 38. Lander, Wyo.:
The Aquinas Institute for the Study of Sacred Doctrine, 2013.
———. Commentary on the Sentences, Book IV, Distinctions 1–13. Translated by
Beth Mortensen. Latin/English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 7.
Green Bay, Wisc.: Aquinas Institute, 2017.
———. Scriptum super libros Sententiarum. 4 vols. Edited by Pierre Mandonnet
(vols. 1–2) and Maria Fabianus Moos (vols. 3–4). Paris: P. Lethielleux, 1927–47.

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———. Summa contra Gentiles. Vol. 3. Edited by Ceslaus Pera, Petrus Marc, and
Petrus Caramello. Rome: Marietti, 1961
———. Summa theologiae. 4 vols. Ottawa: Commissio Piana, 1953.
———. Summa theologiae. Translation by Fred Freddoso. https://www3.
nd.edu/~afreddos/­summa-translation/TOC.htm.
———. Super Epistolas S. Pauli lectura. 2 vols. Edited by Raphael Cai. Rome: Marietti,
1953.
———. Super Evangelium Sancti Ioannis lectura. Edited by Raphael Cai. Rome:
Marietti, 1952.
Tillard, ­Jean-Marie Roger. L’Eucharistie: Pâque de l’Église. Unam sanctam 44. Paris:
Cerf, 1964. English Translation: The Eucharist: Pasch of God’s People. Staten Island,
N.Y.: Alba House, 1967.
———. “Théologie, voix catholique: La communion à la Pâque du Seigneur.” In Eu-
charistia: Encyclopédie de l’eucharistie, edited by Maurice Brouard, 397–438. Paris:
Cerf, 2002.
Urfels, Florent. La Pâque du Messie: Introduction à une théologie eucharistique du
judaïsme. Collège des Bernardins 20. Paris: Parole et Silence, 2013.
Vorgrimler, Herbert. Sacramental Theology. Translated by Linda M. Maloney. Col-
legeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 1992.

Biblical Studies
Albertus Magnus. Enarrationes in Joannem. Borgnet Edition 24. Paris, 1899.
———. Super Matthaeum, Capitula I–XIV. Edited by Bernhard Schmidt. Cologne
Edition 21.1. Münster, Germany: Aschendorff Verlag, 1987.
Aletti, ­Jean-Noël. “Romans.” In, The International Bible Commentary, edited by Wil-
liam R. Farmer, 1533–1600. Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1998.
Anderson, Gary A. Sacrifice and Offerings in Ancient Israel: Studies in their Social and
Political Importance. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987.
———. “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings: Old Testament.” In The Anchor Bible
Dictionary, vol. 5, edited by David Noel Friedman, 870–86. New York: Double
Day, 1992.
———. Sin: A History. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2009.
Arletti, Claudio. “La manna, cibo rivelatore del patto tra YHWH ed Israele.” In Il Ver-
bo si è fatto ‘pane’: l’Eucaristia tra Antico e Nuovo Testamento, edited by Giacomo
Violi, 27–39. Assisi, Italy: Cittadella Editrice, 2009.
Baumert, Norbert, and ­Maria-Irma Seewann. “Eucharistie ‘für alle’ oder ‘für viele’?”
Gregorianum 89 (2008): 501–32.
Benoit, Pierre. Exégèse et théologie. Vol. 1. Cogitatio fidei 46.1. Paris: Cerf, 1960.
Betz, Johannes. Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter. Vol. 2.1, Die Realprä-
senz des Leibes und Blutes Jesu im Abendmahl nach dem Neuen Testament. Freiburg
im Breisgau: Herder, 1961.

306 B i bl i ogr a p h y
Bock, Darrell L. Acts. Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament. Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic Press, 2007.
Bornkamm, Günther. “Die eucharistische Rede im ­Johannes-Evangelium.” Zeitschrift
für die Neutestamentlische Wissenschaft 47 (1956): 161–69.
Braun, F.-M. “L’eucharistie selon saint Jean.” Revue Thomiste 70 (1970): 5–29.
Brown, Raymond E. The Gospel according to John. 2 volumes. Anchor Bible Commen-
tary 29–29A. New York: Doubleday, 1966–70.
———. The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave, a Commentary on
the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels. 2 volumes. The Anchor Bible Reference
Library. New York: Doubleday, 1994.
Bultmann, Rudolf. Das Evangelium des Johannes. ­Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar
über das Neue Testament. Göttingen, Germany: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968.
Conzelmann, Hans. First Corinthians: A Commentary on the First Epistle to the
Corinthians. Translated by James W. Leitch. Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical
Commentary on the Bible. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975.
Danielou, Jean. The Bible and the Liturgy. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre
Dame Press, 1956.
Dauphinais, Michael. “And They Shall All Be Taught by God: Wisdom and the
Eucharist in John 6.” In Reading John with St. Thomas Aquinas: Theological Exegesis
and Speculative Theology, edited by Michael Dauphinais and Matthew Levering,
312–17. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005.
Douglas, Mary. “The Eucharist: Its Continuity with the Bread Sacrifice of Leviticus.”
Modern Theology 15 (1999): 209–24.
Dumoulin, Pierre. “La manne dans le livre de la Sagesse: Synthèse de traditions et
préparation au mystère eucharistique.” Dissertation of the Gregorian University.
Rome: Pontificia Universitas Gregoriana, 1994.
Dunn, James D. G. “John VI—A Eucharistic Discourse?” New Testament Studies 17
(1970–71): 328–38.
———. Christianity in the Making. Vol. 1, Jesus Remembered. Grand Rapids, Mich.:
William B. Eerdmans, 2003.
Dupont, Jacques. “‘Ceci est mon corps’, ‘Ceci est mon sang’.” Nouvelle revue théologique
80 (1958): 1025–41.
Dupuy, Bernard. “Pâque juive et Pâque chrétienne: À l’origine de la différence hermé-
neutique.” ISTINA 48 (2003): 339–56.
Durwell, F.-X. L’Eucharistie, présence du Christ. Paris: Les Editions Ouvrières, 1971.
Feuillet, André. “Les thèmes bibliques majeurs du discours sur le pain de vie ( Jean 6).”
Nouvelle revue théologique 82 (1960): 802–22; 918–39; 1040–62.
Garuti, Paolo. “Espiazione.” In Dizionario teologico sul sangue di Cristo, edited by Tullio
Veglianti, 474–81. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2007.
Gese, Hartmut. Sulla teologia biblica. Biblioteca della cultura religiosa 54. Brescia, Italy:
Paideia, 1989.
Grelot, Pierre. Église et ministère: Pour un dialogue critique avec Edward Schillebeeckx.
Paris: Cerf, 1983.

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Hahn, Scott. The Fourth Cup: Understanding the Mystery of the Last Supper and the
Cross. New York: Image, 2018.
Hauke, Manfred. “Versato per molti”: Studio per una fedele traduzione del “pro multis”
nelle parole della consecrazione. Siena, Italy: Cantagalli, 2008.
Hengel, Martin. The Atonement: The Origins of the Doctrine in the New Testament.
Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1981.
Hengel, Martin, and Anna Maria Schwemer. Jesus und das Judentum. Tübingen, Ger-
many: Mohr Siebeck, 2007.
Hofius, Otfried. “The Lord’s Supper and the Lord’s Supper Tradition: Reflections on
1 Corinthians 11:23b–25.” In Meyer, One Loaf, One Cup, 75–115.
Jaubert, Annie. The Date of the Last Supper. Translated by I. Rafferty. Staten Island,
N.Y.: Alba House, 1965.
Jeremias, Joachim. The Eucharistic Words of Jesus. 3rd ed. Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress
Press, 1966.
Jostein, Ådna. “Jesus’ Meals and Table Companions.” In The Eucharist: Its Origins and
Contexts: Sacred Meal, Communal Meal Table Fellowship in Late Antiquity, Early
Judaism, and Early Christianity, vol. 1, Old Testament, Early Judaism, New Testa-
ment, ed. David Hellholm and Dieter Sänger, 331–53. Wissenschaftliche Unter­
suchungen zum Neuen Testament 376. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017.
Keener, Craig S. The Gospel of Matthew: A ­Socio-Rhetorical Commentary. Grand Rap-
ids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 1999.
———. The Gospel of John: A Commentary. Vol. 1. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2003.
———. The Historical Jesus of the Gospels. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans,
2009.
———. Acts: An Exegetical Commentary. Vol. 1, Introduction and 1:1–2:47. Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2012.
Klauck, ­Hans-Josef. Hausgemeinde und Hauskirche im frühen Christentum. Stuttgart:
Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1981.
———. “Presence in the Lord’s Supper: 1 Corinthians 11:23–26 in the Context of
Hellenistic Religious History.” In Meyer, One Loaf, One Cup, 57–74.
———. “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings: New Testament.” In The Anchor Bible
Dictionary, vol. 5, edited by David Noel Friedman, 886–91. New York: Doubleday,
1992.
Klawans, Jonathan. Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2000.
Larcher, Chrysostome. Le livre de la Sagesse ou La Sagesse de Salomon. Vol. 3. Études
bibliques, New Series 5. Paris: J. Gabalda, 1985.
­Léon-Dufour, Xavier. Le partage du pain eucharistique selon le Nouveau Testament.
Paris: Seuil, 1982.
Marshall, I. Howard. The Gospel of Luke: A Commentary on the Greek Text. The New
International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B.
Eerdmans, 1978.

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Meier, John P. A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Vol. 1, The Roots of the
Problem and the Person. The Anchor Bible Dictionary Reference Library. New
York: Doubleday, 1991.
Meyer, Ben F. “The Expiation Motif in the Eucharistic Words: A Key to the History of
Jesus?” In Meyer, One Loaf, One Cup, 11–33.
———, ed. One Loaf, One Cup: Ecumenical Studies of 1 Cor 11 and Other Eucharistic
Texts. New Gospel Studies 6. Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1993.
Milgrom, Jacob. Leviticus 1–16. The Anchor Bible 3. New York: Doubleday, 1991.
Moberly, R. W. L. Old Testament Theology: Reading the Hebrew Bible as Christian
Scripture. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2013.
Moloney, Francis J. “‘He Loved Them to the End’: Eucharist in the Gospel of John.”
Worship 91 (2017): 43–64.
Montague, George T. First Corinthians. Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture.
Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2011.
Pitre, Brant. Jesus and the Last Supper. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans,
2015.
Ratzinger, Joseph. Jesus of Nazareth, Part 2: Holy Week, From the Entrance into Jerusa-
lem to the Resurrection. Translated by the Vatican Secretariat of State. San Francis-
co: Ignatius Press, 2011.
Sanders, E. P. Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE. Philadelphia: Trinity Press
International, 1992.
———. The Historical Figure of Jesus. London: Penguin, 1993.
Schenker, Adrian. “Les sacrifices dans la Bible.” In Recht und Kultur im Alten Testa-
ment: Achtzehn Studien, 7–21. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 172. Fribourg, Switzer-
land: Universitätsverlag, 2000.
———. Anfänge der Textgeschichte des Alten Testaments: Studien zu Entstehung und
Verhältnis der frühesten Textformen. Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und
Neuen Testament 194. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2011.
Schnackenburg, Rudolf, Das Johannesevangelium. Vol. 2. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder,
1971.
Söding, Thomas. “Brot und Wein: Die Gaben beim Letzten Abendmahl.” Internatio-
nale Katholische Zeitschrift Communio 42 (2013): 237–48.
Thiselton, Anthony C. The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the
Greek Text. The New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids,
Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2000.
Thurian, Max. The Eucharistic Memorial, Part 2: The New Testament. Translated by
J. G. Davis. Ecumenical Studies in Worship 8. Richmond, Va.: John Knox Press,
1961.
Vanhoye, Albert. Prêtres anciens, prêtre nouveau selon le Nouveau Testament. Paris:
Éditions du Seuil, 1980.
———. The Letter to the Hebrews: A New Commentary. Translated by Leo Arnold.
New York: Paulist Press, 2015.

Bi bl i o gr ap h y 309
Wright, N. T. Jesus and the Victory of God. Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1996.
———. “The Lord’s Prayer as a Paradigm for Christian Prayer.” In Into God’s Presence:
Prayer in the New Testament, edited by Richard N. Longnecker, 132–54. Grand
Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2001.
Zsengellér, József. “‘The Taste of Paradise’, Interpretation of Exodus and Manna in the
Book of Wisdom.” In Studies in the Book of Wisdom, edited by Géza G. Xeravits
and József Zsengellér, 197–216. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Juda-
ism 142. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2010.

Magisterial Teaching: Documents

Denzinger, Heinrich. Compendium of Creeds, Definition, and Declarations on Matters
of Faith and Morals. Edited by Helmut Hoping, Peter Hünemann, Robert Fastiggi,
and Anne Englung Nash. 43rd ed. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012.
Flannery, Austin, ed. Vatican Council II. Vol. 1, The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Docu-
ments. Rev. ed. Dublin, Ireland: Dominican Publications.
Francis. Amoris Laetitia, The Joy of Love: ­Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation. Vatican
City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2016.
Hill, Christopher, and E. J. Yarnold, eds. Anglicans and Roman Catholics: The Search for
Unity. London: SPCK/CTS, 1994.
Palmer, P., ed., Sources of Christian Theology I: Sacraments and Worship. London, 1957.
John Paul II. The Encyclicals of John Paul II. Edited by J. Michael Miller. Huntington,
Ind.: Our Sunday Visitor, 1996.
———. The ­Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortations of John Paul II. Edited by J. Michael
Miller. Huntington, Ind.: Our Sunday Visitor, 1998.
———. Ecclesia de Eucharistia. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2003.
———. Encyclicals. Trivandrum, Kerala, India: Carmel International Publishing
House, 2005.
Paul VI. Mysterium Fidei. In The Papal Encyclicals, vol. 5, edited by Claudia Carlen,
165–77. Ypsilanti, Mich.: The Pierian Press, 1990.
Pius XII. Mediator Dei. In The Papal Encyclicals, vol. 4, edited by Claudia Carle,
119–54. Ypsilanti, Mich.: The Pierian Press, 1990.
———. Mystici Corporis Christi. In The Papal Encyclicals, vol. 4, edited by Claudia
Carlen, 37–63. Ypsilanti, Mich.: The Pierian Press, 1990.
Pontifical Council for the Promotion of the Unity of Christians. Ecumenical Directory.
March, 1993.
———. “The Official Roman Catholic Response to the Final Report of ARCIC I
(1991).” http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_councils/chrstuni/­
angl-comm-docs/­rc_pc_chrstuni_doc_1991_catholic-response-arcici_en.html.

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Magisterial Teaching: Studies
Bourgeois, Henri. “La constitution de la sacramentaire du XIIe au XVIe siècles.” In
Bourgeois, Sesboüé, and Tihon, Les signes du salut, 109–41.
———. “Les sacrements selon Vatican II.” In Bourgeois, Sesboüé, and Tihon, Les
signes du salut, 243–82.
Driscoll, Jeremy. “Sacrosanctum Concilium.” In The Reception of Vatican II, edited by
Matthew L. Lamb and Matthew Levering, 23–47. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2017.
Gutierrez, C. Trento: Un concilio para la unión (1550–1552). Vol. 3, Estudio. Corpus
tridentinum hispanicum 4. Madrid: Instituto Enrique Florez, 1981.
Iserloh, Erwin. “Das tridentinische Meßopferdekret in seinen Beziehungen zu der
Kontroverstheologie der Zeit.” In Il Concilio di Trento e la riforma tridentina: atti
del convengo storico internazionale, vol. 2, edited by Convengo storico internazio-
nale 1963, 401–39. Rome: Herder, 1965.
Jedin, Hubert. Geschichte des Konzils von Trient. 5 volumes. Freiburg im Breisgau:
Herder, 1951–75. English translation: A History of the Council of Trent. Translated
by Ernest Graf. London: Nelson, 1957–61.
Mansini, Guy, “Lumen Gentium.” In The Reception of Vatican II, edited by Matthew L.
Lamb and Matthew Levering, 48–80. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017.
O’Malley, John W. What Happened at Vatican II? London: Harvard University Press,
2008.
Servigny, Gérald de. La théologie de l’eucharistie dans le concile de Vatican II. Paris, 2000.
Sesboüé, Bernard. “La doctrine sacramentaire du concile de Trente II: L’Eucharistie
et le sacrifice de la Messe.” In Bourgeois, Sesboüé, and Tihon, Les signes du salut,
158–70.
Wohlmuth, Josef. Realpräsenz und Transsubstantiation im Konzil von Trient. 2 vols.
Bern: H. Lang, 1975.

Ancient Documents and the Church Fathers on the Eucharist

Ambrose of Milan. De incarnationis dominicae sacramento. Edited by Claudio More-
schini. Opera Omnia di Sant’Ambrogio 16. Rome: Nuova Città, 1979.
———. De officiis. Edited by Mauritius Testard. CCSL 15. Turnhout, Belgium: Bre-
pols, 2000.
———. Explanatio Psalmorum XII. Edited by M. Petschenig. Corpus Scriptorum
Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 64. Vindobonae: Verlag der Österreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999.
———. Theological and Dogmatic Works. Translated by Roy Deferrari. The Fathers
of the Church 44. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1963.
Augustine. City of God. The Fathers of the Church 14. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 1963.

Bi bl i o gr ap h y 311
———. De civitate Dei. Edited by Bernardus Dombart and Alphonsus Kalb.
CCSL 47. Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1955.
———. Epistulae 56–100. Edited by Kl. D. Daur. CCSL 31A. Turnhout, Belgium:
Brepols, 2005.
———. Expositions of the Psalms 73–98. Translated by Maria Boulding. Works of
St. Augustine 3.18. Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 2002.
———. Homélies sur l’évangile de saint Jean, XVII–XXXIII. Bibliothèque Augustini-
enne 72. Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1972.
———. Letters 1–99. Translated by Roland Teske. The Works of Saint Augustine 2.1.
Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 2001.
———. Sermons (184–229Z) on the Liturgical Seasons. Translated by Edmund Hill.
The Works of St. Augustine 3.6. Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 1993.
———. Sermons (230–272B) on the Liturgical Seasons. Translated by Edmund Hill.
The Works of St. Augustine 3.7. Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 1994.
———. Tractates on the Gospel of John, 11–27. Translated by John W. Rettig. The
Fathers of the Church 79. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 1988.
———. Tractates on the Gospel of John, 55–111. Translated by John W. Rettig. The
Fathers of the Church 90. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 1994.
Basil the Great, “Letter 93.” In Letters 1–185. Translated by Agnes Claire Way. Notes by
Roy J. Deferrari. The Fathers of the Church 13. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 1951.
Bradshaw, Paul F., Maxwell E. Johnson, and L. Edward Phillips, eds. The Apostolic
Tradition: A Commentary. Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on
the Bible. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2002.
Brooks, Ernest Walter, ed. The Sixth Book of the Select Letters of Severus, Patriarch of
Antioch, in the Syria Version of Athanasius of Nisibis. Vol. 2. London: Williams &
Norgate, 1904.
Cyprian of Carthage. Ceux qui sont tombés (De lapsis). Translated by Michel Poirier.
Notes by Graeme Clark. Sources chrétiennes 547. Paris: Cerf, 2012.
———. Epistularium: Epistulae 58–81. Edited by G. F. Diercks. CCSL 3C. Turnhout,
Belgium: Brepols, 1996.
———. Letters 55–66. Translated by G. W. Clarke. Ancient Christian Writers 46. New
York: Paulist Press, 1986.
Cyril of Alexandria. Commentary on the Gospel of John. Vol. 1. Translated by David R.
Maxwell. Edited by Joel C. Elowksy. Ancient Christian Texts. Downers Grove, Ill.:
IVP Academic, 2013.
Cyril of Jerusalem. Catéchèses mystagogiques. Edited by Auguste Piédagnel. Translated
by Pierre Paris. Sources chrétiennes 126bis. Paris: Cerf, 1966.
———. Works. Translated by Leo P. McCauley and Anthony A. Stephenson. The
Fathers of the Church 64. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America
Press, 1970.

312 B i bl i ogr ap h y
Gelston, Anthony. The Eucharistic Prayer of Addai and Mari. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1992.
Gregory of Nazianzen. Briefe. Edited by Michael Wittig. Bibliothek der Griechischen
Literatur 13. Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann, 1981.
Hänggi, Anton, and Irmgard Pahl, eds. Prex Eucharistica: Textus e variis liturgiis
antiquioribus selecti. Spicilegium Friburgense 12. Fribourg, Switzerland: Éditions
universitaires Fribourg, 1968.
Ignatius of Antoch. Letters to the Smyrnaeans. In Kleist, The Epistles of St. Clement of
Rome and St. Ignatius of Antioch.
Irenaeus of Lyon. Against the Heresies. Vol. 2. Translated by Dominic J. Unger and
John J. Dillon. Ancient Christian Writers 65. New York: Paulist Press, 2012.
———. Contre les hérésies, livre IV. Edited by Adelin Rousseau. Sources chrétiennes
100.2. Paris: Cerf, 1965.
———. Contre les hérésies, livre V. Edited by Adelin Rousseau. Sources chrétiennes 125.
Paris: Cerf, 1969.
Jenkins, Claude. “Origen on 1 Corinthians, part 3.” Journal of Theological Studies 9
(1908): 500–514.
John Damascene. On the Orthodox Faith. Translated by Frederic H. Chase. The Fathers
of the Church 37. New York: Fathers of the Church, 1958.
———. Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos. Edited by Bonifatius Kotter. Patristi-
sche Texte und Studien 12. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1972.
Justin Martyr. The Apology, The Second Apology, Dialogue with Trypho. Edited by
Michael Slusser. Translated by Thomas B. Falls. Revised by Thomas P. Halton.
Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2003.
———. First and Second Apologies. Edited and translated by L. W. Barnard. Ancient
Christian Writers 56. New York: Paulist Press, 1997.
Kleist, James A., ed. The Didache. Ancient Christian Writers 6. New York: Paulist Press,
1978.
———. The Epistles of St. Clement of Rome and St. Ignatius of Antioch. Ancient Chris-
tian Writers 1. New York: Paulist Press, 1978.
Missel chaldéen: L’ordre des mystères avec les trois anaphores, selon le rite de la sainte
Eglise de l’Orient. Edited by Francis Alichoran and P. Perrier. Paris: Eglise
chaldéenne, 1982.
Niederwimmer, Kurt. The Didache: A Commentary. Translated by Linda M. Maloney.
Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible. Philadelphia:
Fortress Press, 1998.
Schoedel, William R. A Commentary on the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch. Edited by
Helmut Koester. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985.
Srawley, James Herbert. The Catechetical Oration of Gregory of Nyssa. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1903.
Tertullian. Opere Montaniste, vol. 4.2. Edited by A. Capone, S. Isetta, S. Matteoli, A.
Persic, R. Uglione. Scrittori Cristiani dell’Africa Romana. Rome: Nuova Città,
2012.

Bi bl i o gr ap h y 313
———. Opera Montanistica. Vol. 2. CCSL 2. Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1954.
Theodore of Mopsuestia. Katechetische Homilien. 2 volumes. Translated by Peter Bruns.
Fontes Christiani 17.1–2. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1994.
Theodoret of Cyrus, Histoire ecclésiastique. Translated by Pierre Canivet. Sources chré-
tiennes 501. Paris: Cerf, 2006.

Studies on the Eucharist and Liturgy in the

Early and Medieval Church
Anatolios, Khaled. “Sacraments in the Fourth Century.” In Boersma and Levering,
The Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology, 140–55.
Barnard, Leslie William. “Notes.” In Justin Martyr, First and Second Apologies, edited
by L. W. Barnard, 97–201. Ancient Christian Writers 56. New York: Paulist Press,
1997.
Bellescize, Luc de. “L’eucharistie chez Ignace d’Antioche et Polycarpe de Smyrne.”
Nouvelle revue théologique 132 (2010): 197–216.
Betz, Johannes. Die Eucharistie in der Zeit der griechischen Väter. Vol. 1.1, Die Ak-
tualpräsenz der Person und des Heilswerkes Jesu im Abendmahl nach der vor­
ephesinischen griechischen Patristik. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1955.
———. Eucharistie in der Schrift und Patristik. Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte
4.4a. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1979.
Botte, Bernard. “Holy Orders in the Ordination Prayers.” In The Sacrament of Holy
Orders: Some Papers and Discussions concerning Holy Orders at a Session of the
Centre de Pastorale Liturgique, 1955. London: Aquin Press, 1957.
Bradshaw, Paul F. The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship: Sources and Methods
for the Study of the Early Liturgy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992.
———. “Introduction: The Evolution of Early Anaphoras.” In Essays on Early Eastern
Eucharistic Prayers, edited by Paul F. Bradshaw, 1–18. Collegeville, Minn.: The
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———. Reconstructing Early Christian Worship. London: SPCK, 2009.
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Communion and the Fruits of the Eucharist
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Protestant Eucharistic Theologies

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Gerrish, Brian. Grace and Gratitude: The Eucharistic Theology of John Calvin. Eugene,
Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2002.
Hunsinger, George. The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast. Current
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Levy, Ian Christopher. “Affirming Real Presence from a Historical Perspective.” Lexing-
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Luther, Martin. The Babylonian Captivity, in Church and Sacraments, the Annotated
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Mattox, Mickey L. “Sacraments in the Lutheran Reformation.” In Boersma and Lever-
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Morerod, Charles. Ecumenism and Philosophy: Philosophical Questions for a Renewal of
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Sacramental Theology in General

Blankenhorn, Bernhard. “The Instrumental Causality of the Sacraments: Thomas
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275–91.
———. “The Place of Romans 6 in Aquinas’ Doctrine of Sacramental Causality: A
Balance of History and Metaphysics.” In Hütter and Levering, Ressourcement
Thomism, 136–49.
de la Soujeole, ­Benoît-Dominique. “The Importance of the Definition of Sacraments as
Signs.” In Hütter and Levering, Ressourcement Thomism, 127–35.
Getcha, Job Ihor W. “La théologie sacramentaire byzantine: La synthèse de Nicolas
Cabasilas et Syméon de Thessalonique.” Habilitation Thesis, University of Lor-
raine, Department of Theology, 2012.
Langevin, Dominic M. From Passion to Paschal Mystery: A Recent Magisterial Develop-
ment concerning the Christological Foundation of the Sacraments. Studia Friburgen-
sia 121. Fribourg, Switzerland: Academic Press, 2015.
Schillebeeckx, Edward. Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God. Kansas City,
Mo.: Sheed & Ward, 1963.
———. L’économie sacramentelle du salut. Translated by Yvon van der Have. Studia
Friburgensia 95. Fribourg, Switzerland: Academic Press, 2004.

The Doctrine of God and Christology

Balthasar, Hans Urs von. To the Heart of the Mystery of Redemption. Translated by
Anne Englund Nash. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2010.
Dodds, Michael J. The Unchanging God of Love: Thomas Aquinas and Contemporary

326 B i bl i o gr ap h y
 Theology on Divine Immutability. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of
America Press, 2008.
———. Unlocking Divine Action: Contemporary Science and Thomas Aquinas. Wash-
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Gaine, Simon Francis. Did the Saviour See the Father? Christ, Salvation and the Vision
of God. London: Bloomsbury, 2015.
Journet, Charles. L’Église du Verbe Incarné: Essaie de théologie spéculative. Vol. 2, Sa
structure interne et son unité Catholique. Saint Maurice, Switzerland: Éditions
­Saint-Augustin, 1999.
Levering, Matthew. Christ’s Fulfillment of Torah and Temple: Salvation according to
Thomas Aquinas. South Bend, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002.
Morard, Martin. “Une source de saint Thomas d’Aquin: Le deuxième concile de Con-
stantinople (553).” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 81 (1997): 21–56.
———. “Thomas d’Aquin, lecteur des conciles.” Archivum Francisanum Historicum 98
(2005): 211–365.
Perrier, Emmanuel. “L’enjeu christologique de la satisfaction (I),” Revue Thomiste 103
(2003): 105–36.
———. “L’enjeu christologique de la satisfaction (II),” Revue Thomiste 103 (2003):
203–47.
Ocáriz, Fernando, Lucas F. Mateo Seco, and José A. Riestra. The Mystery of Jesus Christ:
A Christology and Soteriology Textbook. Translated by Michael Adams and James
Gavigan. Portland, Ore.: Four Courts Press, 2011.
Ramelow, Anselm. “Not a Miracle: Our Knowledge of God’s Signs and Wonders.”
Nova et Vetera (English Edition) 14 (2016): 659–73.
Torrell, ­Jean-Pierre. “La causalité salvifique de la résurrection du Christ selon saint
Thomas.” In Recherches Thomasiennes, 214–41. Bibliothèque Thomiste 52. Paris:
Vrin, 2000.
———. Encyclopédie Jésus le Christ chez saint Thomas d’Aquin. Paris: Cerf, 2008.
———. Christ and Spirituality in St. Thomas Aquinas. Translated by Bernhard Blan-
kenhorn. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2011.
Tschipke, Theophil. Die Menschheit Christi als Heilsorgan der Gottheit: Unter besonder-
er Berücksichtigung der Lehre des heiligen Thomas von Aquin. Freiburger theolo-
gische Studien 55. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1940.
White, Thomas Joseph. The Incarnate Lord: A Thomistic Study in Christology. Thomis-
tic Ressourcement 5. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
2015.

Miscellaneous
Blankenhorn, Bernhard. “Implicit Philosophy and Hermeneutics: Metaphysics and the
Historicity of Thought in Light of Fides et Ratio.” Angelicum 95 (2018): 201–18.
Blowers, Paul M. Maximus the Confessor: Jesus Christ and the Transfiguration of the
World. Christian Theology in Context. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Bi bl i o gr ap h y 327
Congar, Yves. La foi et la théologie. Le mystère chrétien: Théologie dogmatique. Paris:
Desclée de Brouwer, 1962.
de la Soujeole, ­Benoît-Dominique. Introduction to the Mystery of the Church. Translated
by Michael J. Miller. Thomistic Ressourcement 3. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 2014.
Elders, Leo J. La métaphysique de saint Thomas d’Aquin dans une perspective historique.
Bibliothèque d’histoire de la philosophie. Paris: Vrin, 1994. English translation:
The Metaphysics of Being of St. Thomas Aquinas in a Historical Perspective. Leiden,
Netherlands: Brill, 1993.
Emery, Gilles. The Trinitarian Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas. Translated by Francesca
Aran Murphy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Feser, Edward. Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction. Heusenstamm,
Germany: Editiones Scholasticae, 2014.
Finnis, John. Moral Absolutes: Tradition, Revision, and Truth. Washington, D.C.: The
Catholic University of America Press, 1991.
Galot, Jean. La nature du caractère sacramentel: Étude de théologie médiévale. Paris:
Desclée de Brouwer, 1956.
Gardeil, ­Henri-Dominique. Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas. Vol. 2,
Cosmology. Translated by John A. Otto. Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2009.
———. Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas. Vol. 4, Metaphysics.
Translated by John A. Otto. Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2012.
International Theological Commission. In Search of a Universal Ethic: A New Look at
the Natural Law. London: Catholic Truth Society, 2012.
Léthel, Fr.-M. L’amour de Jésus: La christologie de sainte Thérèse de l’Enfant Jésus. Jésus et
­Jésus-Christ 72. Paris: Desclée, 1997.
Mansini, Guy. “The Development of the Development of Doctrine in the Twentieth
Century.” Angelicum 93 (2016): 785–822.
———. “The Historicity of Dogma and Common Sense: Ambroise Gardeil, Reginald
­Garrigou-Lagrange, Yves Congar, and the Modern Magisterium.” Nova et Vetera
(English Edition) 18 (2020): 111–38.
Meszaros, Andrew. “Yves Congar and the Salvation of the ­Non-Christian.” Louvain
Studies 37 (2013): 195–223.
­Rosier-Catach, Irène. La parole efficace: Signe, rituel, sacré. Paris: Éditions du Seuil,
2004.
Sullivan, Francis A. Salvation Outside the Church? Tracing the History of the Catholic
Response. New York: Paulist Press, 1992.
Torrell, ­Jean-Pierre. Initiation à saint Thomas d’Aquin: Sa personne et son œuvre. 2nd ed.
Paris: Cerf, 2015.

328 B i bl i ogr a p h y
I nd ex of N am e s
I nd ex of N am e s
Index of Names

Adams, Marilyn McCord, 126n110, 178n56, Bradshaw, Paul F., 45–48, 49n15, 51n25
181n62, 183n71 Braun, F.-M., 18n39, 20n49
Albertus Magnus, 261, 285 Bride, A., 66n80
Alphonsus Liguori, 290–91 Brock, Stephen L., 187n73
Ambrose of Milan, 107–10, 121, 164–65, Brown, Raymond E., 19–20, 22, 23n57, 28,
181, 209–10, 220, 224–25, 228, 242–43, 29n72, 30, 45
250–51, 255, 275 Bulgakov, Sergius, 180
Ambrosius Catharinus, 231 Bultmann, Rudolf, 14–15, 19n43
Anatolios, Khaled, 109n41 Butler, Sara, 259
Anderson, Gary A., 84–90 Burr, David, 181n62
Arletti, Claudio, 9n1 Buttiglione, Rocco, 298
Augustine, 15, 22, 24, 62, 65, 67, 76, 110, 115,
118, 121, 124, 126, 132, 133n139, 137n151, Cajetan, Thomas Vio, 117, 130
140, 146, 148, 165–67, 172, 251, 264, Calvin, John, 4, 156, 158, 160, 206–9
275–76, 280, 282, 289–90 Casel, Odo, 127n116
Chauvet, Louis-Marie, 4, 25n63, 99, 106n26,
Balthasar, Hans Urs von, 91 154–55, 160–61, 211, 213–15
Basil the Great, 195n91 Clark, Francis, 100n5, 118n79, 126n129
Bayer, Oswald, 157 Colish, Marcia L., 178
Bazelaire, Louis de, 290n60, 291n63 Congar, Yves, 222n16, 223n20, 229n50,
Bellescize, Luc de, 51n25 231n60, 237n79, 238n84, 239–40
Benedict XVI, Pope, 296 Cross, Richard, 129n126
Benoit, Pierre, 33, 38n117, 40n127 Cyprian of Carthage, 51, 59–60, 66–68, 195,
Bessarion, Basil, 235 248–49
Betz, Johannes, 53n33, 251 Cyril of Alexandria, 23–24, 113, 131, 190–91,
Blankenhorn, Bernhard, 283n34, 286n45 205, 251, 275, 277–78
Blowers, Paul M., 95n88 Cyril of Jerusalem, 55n38, 108, 110, 142, 181,
Bock, Darrell L., 245n2 222, 251
Bonaventure, 41
Bonino, Serge-Thomas, 284n39, 297n78 Danielou, Jean, 153
Botte, Bernard, 57n46, 248n19, 249–50, de la Soujeole, Benoît-Dominique, 73–77,
266 235–36, 238
Bouyer, Louis, 36, 52n28, 54n34, 57n48, 58, de Lubac, Henri, 238, 301
103–5, 107n32, 111n52, 134n140, 220n4, Derville, Guillaume, 268n84
237–38, 250n24 Dix, Gregory, 108–9

329
Dodds, Michael J., 10n6, 95n86, 198n98 Hahn, Scott, 36n105
Douglas, Mary, 85n39 Hauke, Manfred, 39n123, 123n98, 124n101,
Driscoll, Jeremy, 100n8, 149 147n186
Dumoulin, Pierre, 10n7, 11n10, 12n15, 13n17, Hengel, Martin, 28, 90–91
14n20 Hochschild, Joshua P., 217n150
Dunn, James D. G., 20–22, 31n83, 33n91 Hofius, Otfried, 33n91
Dupont, Jacques, 33n91, 38n116, 39n119 Hope, D. M., 54n35
Dupuy, Bernard, 37n111 Hunsinger, George, 100n6, 137n151, 158,
182n68
Elders, Leo J., 175n49, 176n50, 178n53
Emery, Gilles, 236n77, 280–81, 283, Innocent III (Lothar of Segni), 169, 252, 267
287n48 Irenaeus of Lyon, 32, 46–47, 50–51, 59–60,
Evans, Gillian R., 156 65, 106–7, 162–63, 220, 247, 277
Ewerszumrode, Frank, 204n104, 205n110, Iserloh, Erwin, 111n53, 112n59, 114n68
206–7
Jaubert, Annie, 29n71
Fagerberg, David W., 140n158 Jedin, Hubert, 208n122, 209n130
Feingold, Lawrence, 168n35, 169, 193, Jensen, Gordon A., 205n108, 206n111
231n58, 264, 288n50, 298 Jeremias, Joachim, 30n76, 35n102, 37,
Feuillet, André, 16, 17n36, 19n43 39n121, 40n126
Filip, Stepan Martin, 147n186 Johanny, Raymond, 164n21
Finnis, John, 299n82 John Damascene, 76, 78, 121n91, 166, 171,
Francis, Pope, 296–99 227–29
Francis de Sales, 290–91 John Duns Scotus, 127–31, 180–81
John of Saint Thomas, 233
Gaine, Simon Francis, 133n134 John of Torquemada, 230n52
Gaïse, Roger, 65n73, 66 John Paul II, Pope, 55, 145, 216, 292n69, 294,
Galot, Jean, 130n127 296, 299
García Ibáñez, Ángel, 65, 147n187, 150n199, Johnson, Maxwell E., 44n2
151n201, 163–66, 181n65, 210, 250n28, Jorissen, Hans, 168n34, 209n131
252n36 Joseph de Sainte-Marie, 266, 267n80,
Garrigou-Lagrange, Réginald, 133n137, 268n82
216n149, 286n43 Jostein, Ådna, 272
Garuti, Paolo, 87n54 Journet, Charles, 78n20, 81, 117, 120, 126,
Geldhof, Joris, 115, 155n208 128n120, 130, 135n145, 137n151, 141n163,
Gelston, Anthony, 56n43, 107n30 147n186, 149–51, 188n78, 301n87, 302
Gerrish, Brian, 207 Jungmann, Joseph A., 68n91
Getcha, Job Ihor W., 167n33 Justin Martyr, 21, 32, 46–50, 59, 65–66,
Gill, Joseph, 230n52, 235n73 105–6, 162, 195, 220, 247, 275, 293
Girard, René, 90n67, 98–99
Giraudo, Cesare, 34–35, 37n114, 38n118, Kampowski, Stephan, 300n85
39n120, 40, 49n15, 53n32, 58n54, 63n67, Kappes, Christiaan, 226n39, 230n53
104n18, 127n116, 160, 218–19, 226n40, Keener, Craig S., 14, 15n26, 16, 17n37, 21–22,
232, 242, 254n38 28, 30–31, 44
Granados, José, 300n85 Kereszty, Roch A., 26n64, 31n84, 33n91,
Gregory of Nazianzen, 124n101 34n96, 40n125, 88–89, 92, 163n18,
Guitmund of Aversa, 193, 199 165n30, 212–13, 284, 288n52
Gutierrez, C., 209n130 Klauck, Hans-Josef, 91n69, 92n75
Gy, Pierre-Marie, 225–26, 238n87 Klawans, Jonathan, 86n45, 87

330 I n d e x of Nam e s 
Lang, Uwe Michael, 54n36, 56n42, 58n52 Morard, Martin, 80n25
Larcher, Chrysostome, 10n8, 11–13 Morerod, Charles, 156
Leeming, Bernard, 61, 63n66, 239n89 Murray, Paul, 288n51
Legrand, Hervé-Marie, 245n4, 246n6,
247–48, 250n25 Nicholas Cabasilas, 166–67, 224, 227, 229,
Léon-Dufour, Xavier, 36, 37n113, 245n2 231, 235
Leppin, Volker, 60n57, 152n203, 157n220, Niederwimmer, Kurt, 47, 56n45, 105n22,
293n70 264n10
Levering, Matthew, 88n58, 93n79, 98n1,
146, 152 Oberman, Heiko Augustinus, 117n78
Levy, Ian Christopher, 204n103, 205n107 Ocáriz, Fernando, 95
Logue, Damien, 263n67 O’Loughlin, Thomas, 246n9, 292n64
Luther, Martin, 4, 99–101, 111, 113, 117, O’Malley, John W., 149n194
155–57, 160–61, 180n58, 182–83, 203–10 Orbe, Antonio, 50n20, 51n21, 65n78,
106n26, 163n13, 220n5
Macomber, William, 55n40, 57n49
Macy, Gary, 178n54 Paul VI, Pope, 160, 215–16
Mansini, Guy, 73n6, 216n149, 260n59, Pérez-Soba, Juan José, 300n85
262n64 Perler, Othmar, 49, 50n18
Margelidon, Philippe-Marie, 231n61 Perrier, Emmanuel, 25n63, 72, 94n83, 95n87,
Marliangeas, Bernard Dominique, 257 121n89, 214n144
Marshall, Bruce, 42, 121n91, 122n93, 124, Perrin, Bertrand-Marie, 62n63, 65n74,
128n119, 131n131, 132n133, 159n1, 172n44, 66n82, 68n92
173, 181n61, 182, 210n136, 251n30, 256n47 Perrin, Michel-Yves, 51n24, 246n10
Masure, Eugène, 119–20, 122n93, 127n115, Peter Lombard, 169, 197
134, 136n149, 139 Pitre, Brant, 9, 10n6, 14n23, 15n27, 18n40,
Mateo Seco, Lucas F., 95 21–23, 29–30, 32, 34n94, 35, 37, 39n123,
Matthiesen, Michon M., 113n61, 118n80, 119, 41n130, 45, 91n73, 92, 102n10, 126n112
120n86, 237n80 Pius XII, Pope, 215–16, 234, 266–67, 269,
Mattox, Mickey L., 204n106, 205n109 290
Mazza, Enrico, 28n68, 45n4, 49n14, 52, Pohle, Joseph, 68n89, 128n121, 134n143,
122n95, 123n97, 249 141n167, 144n174, 192n85, 195n90,
McCabe, Herbert, 182n69 196n92, 200n102, 237n81
McKenna, John H., 221n12, 222n14, Poschmann, Bernhard, 276n13
224n26, 226n41, 229n51, 231n58, 232,
233n67, 237n81, 241–42 Rahner, Karl, 98, 266–67, 269–70
McPartlan, Paul, 77 Ramelow, Anselm Tilman, 10n6
Meszaros, Andrew, 144n166 Ratzinger, Joseph, 28n69, 29
Meyer, Ben F., 39n122, 90n66 Revel, Jean-Philippe, 61n60
Meyer, Hans Bernhard, 54n36, 55n39, 274n3 Riestra, José A., 95
Michel, Albert, 114n67, 119n82, 124n101, Roguet, Aymon-Marie, 180n59, 187n74, 189,
142n169, 143n171, 147n188, 150n196, 287n47
151n200 Rordorf, Willy, 47, 56n45
Miquel Ciarrochi, Alejandro Blas, 261n61, Rosier-Catach, Irène, 130n128
262n65 Russo, Nicholas, 56, 57n46, 58n50
Milgrom, Jacob, 84n35, 85
Moberly, R. W. L., 9n2 Salaville, S., 237n79
Moll, Helmut, 91n72, 105n25, 161n7, 163n13 Salkeld, Brett, 208n121
Monléon, Albert Marie de, 116n77 Sanders, E. P., 28, 30, 34n95, 84n34, 85–86
Montague, George T., 103, 274n3 Santogrossi, Ansgar, 49n17, 58n51

I nd ex o f N ame s  331
Sattler, Dorothea, 60n57, 152n203, 157n220, Tirot, Paul, 267n80
293n70 Torrell, Jean-Pierre, 78n20, 80n26, 82,
Scheffczyk, Leo, 32n85, 40n124 123n97, 245n1, 246n5, 258, 264n69,
Schenker, Adrian, 86n48, 91n70 288n51
Schillebeeckx, Edward, 4, 62, 63n66, 72, Tück, Jan-Heiner, 145n177
160–61, 211–13, 215, 220n6, 221n10, 222,
225n30, 231, 232n63, 233–34, 239n90, 241, Urfels, Florent, 64n69, 99, 112n57, 113,
245n3 131n131, 157n217
Schmemann, Alexander, 140n158
Schmitz, Rudolf Michael, 267n78, 269n86 Vaggagini, Cipriano, 114n71
Schnackenburg, Rudolf, 18n38 Valuet, Basile, 296n75
Séjourné, P., 180n60 van der Lof, J. L., 146n183, 165n26
Servigny, Gérald de, 115n75 Vanhoye, Albert, 92–93, 250
Sesboüé, Bernard, 206n112, 210n132 Van Slyke, Daniel G., 52n28
Sheerin, Daniel, 44n2, 58n52 Vijgen, Jörgen, 197, 199n100
Sokolowski, Robert, 122n94 Vonier, Anscar, 119n85, 128n118, 132n132
Staedtke, Joachim, 156n210, 204n105, Vorgrimler, Herbert, 218, 232, 241
208n120
Stevenson, Kenneth, 106n29, 107, 110n51 Wahlberg, Mats, 299n84
Suárez, Francisco, 268 Wéber, Édouard-Henri, 176n52, 197n95,
Sullivan, Francis A., 141 198n99
Sweeney, Conor, 213n140 Welch, Lawrence J., 262n64
White, Thomas Joseph, 133n134
Teresa of Avila, 290 William of Saint-Thierry, 290n59
Tertullian, 108, 110, 247–50 Wilson, Stephen B., 57n47
Theodore of Mopsuestia, 57, 109–10, 227, Wright, N. T., 9, 28
276–77
Thiselton, Anthony C., 32n86 Yarnold, Edward J., 55n38, 56n45
Thomas Aquinas, 4–6, 15, 24, 62, 67–69,
78–82, 93–96, 115–32, 135, 137–38, 140, Zheltov, Michael, 52n29, 53, 220n3, 221,
143–48, 150, 161, 170–76, 178–99, 207, 223–24, 227–29, 235
213, 230–31, 235–36, 238, 254–56, 258–59, Zizioulas, John D., 122n94
262, 267n80, 271, 277–91, 297 Zsengellér, József, 9n4
Thurian, Max, 36, 112n58, 115n75, 124n100 zur Mühlen, Karl-Heinz, 155n209
Tihon, P., 265n73
Tillard, Jean-Marie Roger, 164n20, 271n1,
275–77

332 I n d e x of Nam e s 
G en e r al I nd e x
G en e r al I nd e x
General Index

accidents: of bread and wine, 72, 167, cannibalism, 19–25

169–71, 178–80, 183–203, 207, 223–24, Canticle of Canticles. See Song of
216, 242; in general, 175–78 Songs
Acts of the Apostles, 44, 72, 245 celebrant of the Eucharist, 47–48
Addai and Mari, 55–59, 63, 107, 240–41, 277 celestial liturgy. See heavenly liturgy
adoration of the Eucharist, Christ: beatific vision, 132–33, 136; high
Adoro te devote, 288 priest, 92–93, 108–10, 112, 118, 127–37,
annihilation theory (of change in the gifts), 141, 150, 172, 251, 262; instrumental
179–87, 207 causality of grace, 71–73, 78–82, 130–31;
Apocalypse, Book of the, 77 redemption won by, 94–97; and sacra-
Apostolic Constitutions, 55, 221–22, 249 mentality, 71–72; sacrifice on the Cross,
Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus, 52, 221, 37–39, 90–96
248–50, 265 Church: as Bride of Christ, 136, 259–62,
Ascension of Christ, 22–23 271, 285, 301; as mystical body, 260–62,
Assyrian Church of the East, 55, 241 280–81; as offering sacrifice, 109–10,
atonement, 84–88, 91 127–30, 133–39; as sacrament of commu-
nion, 72–77. See also communion
baptism, 48, 61, 82, 256, 280, 282–84, 286, communion: brings charity, 5, 74, 114–15,
289–90 142, 261, 263, 274–75, 280–86, 288–91;
Basil, Liturgy of Saint, 55, 115, 125, 222–23, dispositions for, 274–76, 282, 284–86;
228, 230 and divine indwelling, 25, 273, 283; eccle-
bishop, union with, and the Eucharist, 69, sial fruit of, 114–15, 274, 280–82; effects
77, 138, 247–49, 263, 265, 274–75, 294 of, 25, 74–76, 273–88; and forgiveness
blessing prayers (ancient Jewish), 34–36, 47, of sins, 273–74, 276, 280, 285–88; gives
103–5, 117 actual grace, 284; obstacles to, 274–76,
Book of Jubilees, 29–30, 34 285–88, 291–300; as spiritual nourish-
bread (as matter of the Eucharist), 64–69 ment, 273, 279–88; under both kinds,
bread, breaking of the: as gesture, 35–36, 46, 149
213–14; as reference to the Eucharistic concelebration, 265–70
liturgy, 44, 245 concomitance, 169, 186, 189–92,
bridal mysticism and Eucharistic commu- 208–9
nion, 241–42, 261–62, 271, 284–85, 301 consecration. See epiclesis; form of the
bridegroom (Messianic), 173, 260–62, 271, Eucharist; institution narrative
284–85, 301 consubstantiation, 178–84, 189n79, 197,
204–5, 208–9, 293

333
conversion of bread and wine, 49–50, 162– fruits of the Eucharistic sacrifice,
64, 166–87, 218–43. See also epiclesis; 139–51
institution narrative; transubstantiation
Corinthians, First Letter to the, 31–32, 39, Genesis, Book of, 67
42, 47–49, 54, 57, 59, 65, 67, 76, 89–92, German Bishops Conference, 292–94
102–3, 116, 164, 182, 204–5, 221, 265n72, German Catholic-Lutheran ecumenical
274, 276, 280, 282, 286, 291, 297, 300 working group, 60n57, 157n220,
Corinthians, Second Letter to the, 90–91, 293n70
284 glorified body of Christ, 20–23, 25–26, 179,
corporeal presence of Christ, 18–25, 36–39, 183–83, 189
125–27, 161–73. See also epiclesis; insti- grace: Christo-forming, 80–82, 142, 146,
tution narrative; substance of the body 153; of conversion, 140–41. See also
and blood communion
Corpus Christi, Office of, 116, 145
Cross as a sacrifice, 90–96 heavenly liturgy, 77, 82, 109, 125, 136, 145,
240, 261–62, 271, 288
Daniel, Book of, 22–23, 192 Hebrews, Letter to the, 9, 39n120, 67, 83,
dead, prayers for the, 110–11, 113, 144 87–90, 92–93, 108, 112, 119–21, 123–24,
Deuteronomy, 8, 12, 19, 33–34, 64–65, 129, 133, 135, 154, 182
85–86, 102 Holy Spirit: and Christ’s humanity, 23–26,
Didache, 47–48, 53, 56, 60n57, 65, 105, 81, 138–39, 235–37; and the fruits of
246–47, 276 communion, 25. See also epiclesis
distension, principle of, 236–37 Hosea, Book of, 104
hylomorphism, sacramental, 61–64. See also
Ecclesia semper, 269 bread; form of the Eucharist; wine
ecclesial unity. See communion
Ephesians, Letter to the, 91, 260 impanation theory, 179–80
epiclesis: and the Holy Spirit, 58, 218–43, in persona Christi. See priesthood
253, 277; and the Logos, 48–50, 53, Incarnation (as Eucharistic analogy),
220–21 48–49, 162, 180, 202–3
esse/essentia distinction, 198 institution narrative, 36–41, 43–64,
Exodus, Book of, 8–12, 17, 37, 39–40, 44, 220–43, 253–57. See also form of the
84, 87–89, 91–92, 123 Eucharist
experience of God (in the Eucharist), institution of the Eucharist, 37, 39–69,
284–85. See also bridal mysticism 101–2, 110–13, 131
Ezekiel, Book of, 38, 103 instrumental causality: of the consecration,
122–24, 127–33, 223–26, 235–37, 254–57,
faith: and the bread of life discourse, 14–18, 259–61; of the priest, 127–33, 254–62. See
21–22, 25; in the corporeal presence of also Christ
Christ, 170–72; as disposition for com- International Theological Commission,
munion, 274–75, 282, 291–96 297–98
Filioque, 24, 235–36, 243 Isaiah, Book of, 39, 84, 89–92, 103
Florence, Council of, 230–35; Decree for the
Armenians (Exsultate Deo), 66–67, 230; James, Liturgy of Saint, 55
Decree for the Greeks (Laetentur caeli), John, First Letter of, 90–91, 276
67, 231; Decree for the Jacobites (Cantate John, Gospel of, 13–32, 38–39, 44–46, 53,
Domino), 230 67–68, 92, 101, 126, 159, 171, 173, 190–91,
form of the Eucharist, 47–64, 122–24, 206, 208, 214n144, 273, 276–80, 282–83,
128–32, 218–43. See also epiclesis; institu- 289
tion narrative John, Second Letter of, 291

334 G en e r al In d e x
John Chrysostom, Liturgy of Saint, 55, 107, Peter, First Letter of, 90n65, 285
115, 125, 223, 230 plagues, 9–11
justification by faith alone, 99–100, 156–57 Pontifical Council for the Promotion of the
Unity of Christians, 55, 158n224, 295n72
Last Supper, 19, 27–41, 43–60, 62–69, 92, priest (ministerial): celebrates in persona
104; as sacrifice, 37–41, 112–14; leavened Christi, 78, 129–32, 237–39, 254–62;
bread, 64–69 celebrates in persona ecclesiae, 136–38,
Lateran Council IV, 169–71, 180–81, 209, 148–49, 257–62; and communion at
252 Mass, 147–48; as essential for the cele-
Leviticus, Book of, 19, 83–89, 91, 105 bration, 127–34, 244–59; and the Mass
Luke, Gospel of, 19, 25–27, 30, 32–36, 39–40, intention, 149–51, 238–39; represents the
44, 65, 72, 90, 173, 245–46 bridegroom, 259–62
priesthood as instituted by Christ, 40–41,
Malachi, Book of, 103, 105 64, 101–2, 111–13
manna, 8–20, 67, 272–73, 280, 289–90 propitiation, 87–88, 91, 107–8, 111–14, 154
Mark, Gospel of, 27, 30–34, 36–37, 39–40, Protestant theologies of the Eucharist,
44, 46, 65, 91–92, 94, 246 99–100, 155–58, 160, 204–8
Mark, Liturgy of Saint, 54, 221–22 Proverbs, Book of, 16, 258
Matthew, Gospel of, 19, 33, 37, 39–40, 44, Psalms, Book of, 8, 16, 32, 34–35, 104
50, 65, 90, 92, 246, 299
meal, Eucharist as, 102–4, 114–16, 120, 139, quantity as an accident of the Eucharist,
146, 152–55, 251, 272, 274, 292n64 192–95, 198–99
medicine of immortality, 21, 25, 162, 273,
275, 277, 288 Real Presence. See corporeal presence;
miracles (Eucharistic), 195 substance of the body and blood
memorial, 38–41, 44–45, 49, 53–55, 58–60, redemption, 94–95. See also satisfaction
63, 104–12, 115–16, 121, 123–25, 127n116, representation and sacrifice, 112, 123–25,
145, 157, 160, 206, 246 131–34. See also priest
Mishna, 34, 84 Resurrection of Christ, 2, 71, 81–82, 92,
Missel chaldéen, 57n48, 241n93 106–7, 114–16, 118, 120, 124–26, 144–45,
missions of Son and Spirit (invisible), 283, 163
291 Roman canon, 54–55, 68, 115, 125, 128,
mysteries of Christ, 80–82 133–37, 220–21, 225–26, 229, 235, 243
Mysterium Fidei (encyclical letter), 160–61, Romans, Letter to the, 76, 90–91, 94, 99,
215–16 107, 109, 145, 167, 263, 286
mystical body. See Church
sacrifice in general, 118–20
Nestorius, Anaphora of, 57n48, 241 sacrifice in the Old Testament, 67, 83–89.
See also Passover
oblation, 106, 119–20. See also sacrifice sacrifice of the Mass: as an immolation, 108,
109–10, 119–20, 126–28, 139; infinite
participation of the faithful at Mass, value of, 114, 129–30, 134–38, 143–44,
100–101, 116, 135–39 268–70; as offered by the Church,
Paschal Mystery, 2, 58, 71, 81, 92, 115, 124–25, 127–30, 133–39; as offered by the priest,
144–45, 163 124–34, 137–39; as an offering for sins,
Passover, 8, 14, 27–36, 44–46, 64–69, 88, 110–14, 140–44; as an offering of love
99, 101, 104, 113, 115, 123–24, 145, 147, and praise, 99–100, 104–6, 132–39, 142;
152–54, 158, 246, 273–74 as a sacrifice of communion, 101, 145–49
penance, sacrament of, 96, 142–43, 176, 280, salvation of non-Christians, 141
286–88, 294–95 sacramentum tantum, 74–75, 169, 214

G en er al I n d ex 335
satisfaction, 89–90, 94–97, 112, 127, 131, 135, transignification, 160, 211–16
137–38, 140, 142–44, 153 transubstantiation, 168–69, 173–87, 204–17.
Serapion, Anaphora of, 110 See also conversion of bread and wine
Sharar, Anaphora of, 53–54, 57–59, 107, Trent, Council of: Decree on Purgatory,
110, 241 144n173; Decree on the Sacrament of the
signification (sacramental), 61–64, 122–24, Eucharist, 63–64, 160, 171, 205, 208–11,
109. See also form; representation 231, 290; Decree on the Sacrament of Holy
sin, 83–88; as debt, 89–90, 94–96; forgive- Orders, 252; Decree on the Sacrifice of the
ness of, 94–96, 135, 140–44, 156–57 Mass, 64, 68, 111–14, 129, 141–44
Sirach, Book of, 16
Song of Songs, 284–85 ubiquitism, 205
soul/body analogy for Eucharistic presence, unleavened bread,
189, 199–200
spiritual communion, 282, 289–91 Vatican II, Council of: Lumen Gentium, 73,
spiritual food and drink, Eucharist as, 76–77, 252n37, 263–64, 295; Presby-
18–26, 67–68, 279–88 terorum Ordinis, 252n37, 260, 263–65;
substance in general, 175–78 Sacrosanctum Concilium, 61–62, 64, 77,
substance of the body and blood, 123–27, 100–101, 114–16, 124–25, 135–36, 148–50,
187, 205, 209–17. See also corporeal 160, 258, 262, 264, 269
presence of Christ via negativa, 179, 192
substitution theory (of change in the gifts), victim (Eucharistic). See sacrifice of the
181, 184–85 Mass
Syriac Anaphora of the Twelve Apostles, 110
water mingled with wine, 51, 66–68
Targum, 11, 90 wine (as matter of the Eucharist), 64–69
thanksgiving, prayer of, 35–36, 47–48, 83, Wisdom, Book of, 8, 10–13, 17
85–86, 99, 104–7, 246, 253, 257, 292n64 words of institution. See institution
Theodore, Anaphora of, 57, 241 narrative
Thessalonians, First Letter to the, 90n65

336 G en e r al I n d e x
Als o i n t h e S a c r a D o c t r i n a
Series

Ecclesiology
Guy Mansini, OSB

An Introduction to Vatican II as an Ongoing Theological Event

Matthew Levering

Fundamental Theology
Guy Mansini, OSB

John Henry Newman on Truth and Its Counterfeits

A Guide for Our Times
Reinhard Hütter

The Godly Image

Christian Satisfaction in Aquinas
Romanus Cessario, OP

The One Creator God in Thomas Aquinas and Contemporary Theology

Michael J. Dodds, OP
}
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