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June 2 , 2007 Beyond the Bread of Angels: The Body of Christ in the Chaldean Tradition By Fr. Andrew Younan
Taking her cue from the words of Jesus in the Gospels, the Chaldean Church receives from her Lord a concrete expression of faith in the Eucharist. “This is my body…” There is no mention of mere “symbolism” in Christ’s words, only the statement of a fact: the fact that the Lord is giving us his body to eat and his blood to drink, albeit in a hidden and mysterious way. Moreover, what was, in Paul’s words, “received from the Lord,” was also a command (“do this”) and a reason for the command (“in memory of me”). And so the Church is presented an undeniable reality: the command of the Lord to do what he did on the night before he died: take bread, say the blessing, break it, and give it to one another knowing, through our faith and trust in the truth of his words, that it is his body. The Church, as the faithful bride of Christ, needs no more than these few words of her Bridegroom to be convinced.
“Is it truly possible for God to dwell among men?” (1Kings8:27)
These words of Solomon the Wise, during the dedication ceremony of the Temple of Jerusalem, express a consciousness at the heart of any true faith: God is utterly beyond the world. This is the case even though he has made his presence known to those who believe in him; that is, while God dwells on earth in many ways, he is not contained by the created world. This is the case with all the “modes” or ways in which God dwells on earth – in nature through its reflection of his creative act, in the Scriptures as the expression of his interaction with man, in the community of believers through Christ’s presence in them, in the substantial presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and even in the visible humanity of Christ when he walked the earth: even then, God’s presence was not limited to one specific place. God is above “place,” and beyond “time,” and our term for this reality is “in the heavens.” The Lord has humbled his greatness, however, and condescended to let himself dwell on earth. The intensity of this reality is beautifully expressed in a Chaldean hymn:
The cherubim surround the fearful seat of your Greatness, O Lord, not to burn, but to enlighten. and the grace that you have sent to our race: Glory to you!
The angels are commonly evoked in Chaldean Eucharistic hymns in order to remind us of the extremities to which God has gone in order to make himself present. In this hymn, the cherubim, among the highest of the angels, hide their faces in fear because the Fire of God’s Presence is too much for even them to handle. And despite this, the Lord chooses to make himself present among men, “not to burn, but to enlighten.”
The Eucharistic Presence on Earth
The hymn above expresses wonder in a generic way, though in its use by the Church it is associated with the Sanctuary of the Church where the altar and the Eucharist are situated. But the Chaldean Church is not vague in her understanding of Christ’s Presence in the Sacrament of the Altar: she knows that, while God is present everywhere in some sense, it is in a different, greater and more sublime way that the Body of Christ made present on the altar brings the Lord to creation. In the following hymn, which is properly Eucharistic, that is, specifically referring to the Mass, the same image is used as the hymn above: the angels fearing to look at God’s presence:
The heavenly and earthly assemblies stand in fear and joy
It is here, however, that the angels tremble in fear, not at God’s refulgent splendor in heaven, but when the priest, following Christ’s command to “do this,” offers the Body and Blood of Christ upon the altar on earth! This juxtaposition of images is meant to be dramatic: the angels in heaven tremble before an event on earth, and fear to even look upon it.
A Theology of Presence and Sacrifice: Mystery
Two new problems are presented here; the type of problems which point to a deeper understanding of reality for their solution. The first problem is: “how can Christ be in heaven and on earth at the same time?” This problem is deepened when we look at Christ’s words in the Gospels: at one point he tells us “I am going to the one who sent me,” (Jn 16:5), and at another point he says “I am with you always, until the end of the age.” (Mt 28:20). These are two among many such passages that suggest that we think more deeply of what it means for Christ to “be with us.” Certainly, Christ is not with us visibly, as he was before the Ascension, except perhaps in exceptional apparitions. But what about in other, invisible ways, such as in nature, or in the poor, or in the Christian community, or, most of all, in the Eucharist? The second question is just as valid: if Christ’s sacrifice on the cross was “once for all,” as is clearly stated in the letter to the Hebrews (7:27) and in other places in Scripture, how can we call the Mass a sacrifice? How can another sacrifice be needed after Christ died for us all, shedding his blood to the last drop for the life of the world? Both of these complex questions are given answers in this hymn:
Let us, who have been called to delight in the glorious and divine Mysteries,
This bold hymn answers our questions in the way that God answered the questions of Job (Job 38): by telling us that the answers are not for us to know. It is enough to know that Christ is in heaven at the right hand of the Father as well as on the altar. We know this because he told us so, and that is sufficient for our knowledge. The way this works and how it happens is beyond us, in the realm of mystery. Even more so in the case of the sacrifice: we know that his sacrifice on the cross was the single event that accomplished the salvation of all; but we also know that he told us to offer his body and blood, and share in it, in remembrance of his one sacrifice. It is for this reason that the main word used in Chaldean to refer to the Mass is Raze, which means “Mysteries.” Again, Christ is sacrificed on the altar “without suffering,” which points us to a deeper mystery: the sacrifice of the Mass is not a re-sacrificing of Christ; he is not dying again and again. The Mass is re-presentation of his death, burial and resurrection through which we were saved – it is a making-present of this reality in our own time and place. Even more, it is a mystical connection of our time and place with the time and place of Christ’s sacrifice, and eternity itself, which is beyond both time and place.
The Divine Drama
In a human play, representation is made in the absence of the reality it signifies. When we watch Hamlet performed, we know that Prince Hamlet himself is not before us on the stage – that it is an actor. We are separated from the reality, even if the play is somehow historical. This separation becomes greater in the case of movies or television – here not even the actors are present to us. But this is the case because of human limitation. How often is it said, after watching a historical documentary, that it would be impressive to actually see the event with our own eyes, and not through a medium – to be present there in actuality, to behold it directly? It is not the mere sight that we desire, because even photographs and real-life footage are not enough. Rather, we desire to be there ourselves; to have contact with the thing itself. Even more is this the case with Christ – how sweet it would be to see Christ with our own eyes, to touch him with our hands, and not simply to hear about him in stories, or watch depictions of him in movies! He himself told his disciples, “blessed are the eyes that see what you see…” (Lk 10:23). Human attempts to depict Christ, therefore, always fall short. When we watch a movie about the life of Christ, we are looking at an electrical image of an actor using a script written by a man who may or may not have based his ideas on Scripture, or most likely on a translation of Scripture that is also human and imperfect. The situation is the same when we consider an icon or image of Christ. The Lord is present, in any of these situations, in a very distant way; similar to the way Hamlet is present to us when we watch Shakespeare’s play (though greater, because through grace Christ lives in our hearts). The Mass is not a merely human reality; it is not a play written by a mere man. It exists because of the command of Christ (“do this in memory of me”), who is both God and man. God’s play is not like a human play. God does not have human limitation, and God’s Drama is not the depiction of a depiction, or the image of an image, or the shadow of a shadow, like our dramas are. In God’s Drama, the scene that is depicted is really there; the main Character is truly present. In God’s Drama, in God’s Representation of the Sacrifice of Christ, the one Salvific Sacrifice is truly made present before our eyes and hearts. We are not watching a movie, or contemplating a symbol, at Mass. We are really there at the scenes of the cross and the empty tomb, and Christ is really here with us, and we can only be made aware of this through the eyes of faith. We recall here Christ’s admonition to Thomas: “Blessed are those who believe but do not see.” (Jn 20:29). Finally, this is the final demonstration of the power of God’s Drama, that through this overflowing of God’s grace we are made not only to be present at his very sacrifice, as if we were simply watching the events happen as spectators, but also to be partakers of his one sacrifice, to be members of his cast of characters. He includes us in his Divine Drama through Communion, and this is an honor which is not even given to the angels:
The One whom the fiery tremble to look upon; Him do you see in Bread and Wine on the paten. Those clothed with lightning are burned upon seeing him, While miserable dust eats him with unveiled face.
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