Our language matters. The words we use to refer to something often reveal what we believe about it. That is why, for example, in politics one side will describe a group of people using one term, while those on the other side of the spectrum will use a different term. Words matter.
Unfortunately, more often than I would like, I hear people refer to Holy Communion as “bread and wine.” I have even heard commissioned Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion speak about “distributing the bread” or “the wine.” This is troubling, because—as I said above—words matter.
In my homily yesterday, I spoke about the beautiful parallels between the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and the Transfiguration. I began by noting that in both there is an ascent: in the Transfiguration, up the mountain; in the Mass, toward the sanctuary. Another parallel is that, just as Our Lord was transfigured—transformed—on the mountain, so too at Mass there is a transformation that involves Our Lord.
During the offertory, unleavened bread and wine are brought to the altar. During the words of consecration, through the action of the Holy Spirit, Our Lord transforms the bread and wine into His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. This transformation is real, not simply symbolic. The Church calls this change transubstantiation. It is a term I wish every Catholic knew and understood, and so I want to explain it here—quite literally, with apples.
Classical philosophy speaks of substance and accidents. Simply put, substance is what a thing is, and accidents are what we can perceive about it—its appearance, smell, taste, texture, and so on. Take an apple: its substance is “apple,” and its accidents include its color, shape, and texture. If I bake the apple for a dessert, its color, texture, and even its shape may change. In other words, its accidents change—but its substance remains: it is still an apple, even though its appearance and flavor have changed.
In the Eucharist, what changes is not merely what we perceive, but what the thing is. What was truly bread and wine—looking and tasting like bread and wine—before the consecration is no longer bread and wine after the consecration, because Our Lord has transformed it into His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Yet because this change is a change of substance and not of accidents, what we perceive remains the same: it still looks and tastes like bread and wine.
At the Last Supper, Our Lord took bread and gave it to His disciples, saying, “This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me” (Luke 22:19). He did not say, “This is bread that symbolizes my body,” but “This is my body.” And in the Bread of Life discourse, Our Lord said: “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him” (John 6:54–56). He did not say, “whoever eats bread and wine,” but “my flesh” and “my blood.”
In His mercy, Our Lord allows us to receive Him in a manner that is fitting and not repulsive to us. Through the ministry of the Church—especially through the priest acting in the person of Christ at the consecration—His true presence is given to us under the appearances of bread and wine. But that does not mean we receive bread and wine. We receive truly and wholly Our Lord Himself.
For us Catholics, it is important to understand this, because what we believe shapes how we live. The Catholic Church teaches this substantial change—transubstantiation. Other Christian communities vary greatly in their understanding of “communion”: some see it as purely symbolic; others speak of Christ’s presence while also holding that the elements remain bread and wine. But Our Lord’s words are clear: He commands us to eat His Body and drink His Blood. And that is what the Catholic Church, by His gift and His promise, offers in the Holy Eucharist.