Homily for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ June 2, 2024

One of my all-time favorite stories is about a weary knight who rode his tired horse down an Italian country road toward his home in Assisi after an ill-advised battle with neighboring Perugia. In truth, to this soldier all battles now seemed ill-advised. After such traumatic ordeals, he no longer saw sense in violence or killing.

He came to a small village and thought, “I’ll get something to eat here and find a place for the night. He stopped in front of a small house where a woman was standing, and cheerfully asked, “Could you spare a bit of food for an errant knight?”

Sadly, the woman shook her head and sighed, “We’ve had a poor harvest. There is barely enough for my family.” With those words she walked into the house.

The soldier went to the next house where a farmer was working on his wagon. “Pardon me, do you have a place at your table for a hungry knight?” he inquired. The farmer replied, “It didn’t rain during the last month before the harvest. What little we have is needed to feed our children.” And so it went, from house to house.

Finally, the knight called the townspeople together and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, you are fortunate that I came to your village today. I have in my possession a special stone that will help feed you through the long winter months. With it you can make stone soup.”

The people responded, “Stone soup? We’ve never heard of such a thing.” “The wonder of the stone soup,” the soldier explained, “is that it not only feeds hungry people, it helps bring people together. Now who has a large iron kettle that I can use?” A large iron pot with a tripod was wheeled out. Then they filled the pot with water and started a fire. As the water began to boil, the knight dramatically raised the special stone above his head and gently placed it into the kettle.

After some time, the knight tasted the liquid. “You know, I think this stone soup needs some salt and pepper.” Some children hurried to find salt and pepper. Then, the knight tasted the mixture again and said, “This stone makes excellent soup, but it would be better if we had a few carrots.” “I have some carrots that I’m willing to share,” a farmer replied.

The carrots were added. Then the knight said, “Not bad, but stone soup is always more tasty when a cabbage is added.” “Say, I think I know where to find a cabbage or two,” a young mother said. Then, the knight said, “The last time I made stone soup at the castle of a rich merchant, he added some potatoes and a slab of beef.” A few of the people talked among themselves, and they soon returned with some beef and potatoes, as well as some milk, onions, and loaves of bread.

Well, everyone ate their fill, and then people brought out fiddles and flutes and started to dance with joy. Never had these villagers experienced such a wonderful party. And what’s more, word is that the members of that village, even to this day, have never been in want or need, ever since that day that Francis of Assisi stopped by their village and taught them the magic of stone soup.

Today we are celebrating a Feast dedicated to reflecting on, and celebrating, in a very conscious way what we are doing when we gather for the Eucharist. In light of the stone soup story, I’d like to ask: what ingredients can you offer to this special, sacred meal? Let me make some suggestions.

We know that there are people in our community who are hungry. The number coming for Community Meals has skyrocketed. During school vacations, members of our community were grateful for the lunches that were prepared and shared. Many of you are very generous with the food items you bring, both for Community Meals and for Montague Catholic Social Ministries. I thank you for bringing these ingredients of shared compassion and love.

Many of you have shared with me special concerns you have, asking that I pray for a family member or neighbor who is undergoing difficulties, having surgery, or has had to go to a nursing home. You, too, bring these prayerful ingredients of compassion and love.

Some of you have shared with me various accounts of good news: someone who was sick is now doing fine; your loved one received the financial help he needed; one of your children was able to get a job she was hoping for. You, too, bring these ingredients of gratitude and thanksgiving.

Some of you have told me that, living alone, you often feel left out and isolated, and how good it makes you feel just to come here and be welcomed, and surrounded by a community of people who are glad to see you, who let you know that someone cares. You bring ingredients of hospitality and loving support.

The magic of stone soup fed a hungry village. And, we may take it for granted, but each time we gather for the Eucharist we are welcomed, we are fed, we are affirmed, we are nourished—by Jesus’ Body and Blood, a body that was broken, blood that was poured out to the final drop, a love remembered and shared. And we imitate that love as we bring our own loving ingredients, add them to the pot, and receive back far, far more than we gave. The Eucharist, then, is the universe’s pattern for how life is to be lived: in community, in a web of caring that is inspired and nourished by the perfect love of Jesus. As we are fed, so we are called to feed others.